BETTINAvoNHUTTEN 


KINGSMEAD 


"I  love  you,"  she  whispered,  "so  I  obey  you' 


KINGSMEAD 


A   NOVEL 


BY 


BETTINA    VON    HUTTEN 


Author  of  «PAM,"  «PAM  DECIDES; 


«  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  BEECHES," etc 


WITH      FRONTISPIECE 


By     WILL     FOSTER 


NEW  YORK,  DODD,  MEAD 


AND    COMPANY,     MCMIX 


COPYRIGHT,  1909 
BY  BETTINA  VON  HUTTEN 

Published  March,  1909  , 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,    CAMBRIDGE,    U.  S.  A. 


LOVING    TOMMY    AND    RESPECTING    HIS 

YOUTHFUL   GOODNESS 

I    DEDICATE    THIS    STORY    OF    HIS    FIRST   LOVE 
TO 

MY  LITTLE  BOY,  BUBI 


CASTEL  SAN  GIORGIO,  POKTOFINO,  ITALY 
New  Year's  Day,  1908 


PREFACE 

WHEN  I  wrote  "  Pam  "  I  had  no  intention  of  ever  tell- 
ing "  What  Became  of  Para." 

When  I  wrote  "  Pam  Decides  "  I  knew  nothing  of 
that  horrid  girl  Brigit  Mead  of  "The  Halo."  And 
when  I  found  Tommy  in  "  The  Halo  "  I  had  no  idea 
that  he  meant  to  grow  up  and  be  a  book  all  to  himself. 

And  now  that  all  these  things  have  happened,  I  can 
do  no  more  than  humbly  acknowledge,  before  the  nimble 
critic  can  jump  at  them,  the  remarkable  discrepancies 
that  occur  in  this  little  series  of  stories  more  or  less 
about  the  same  people,  in  the  matter  of  dates,  compara- 
tive ages,  etc. 

The  people  have  grown  up  and  grown  old  all  too 
soon,  for,  not  intending  to  write  more  about  them,  I 
have  planted  them  higgledy-piggledy,  in  their  youth 
and  in  their  mature  age,  anywhere,  it  seems,  between 
1895  and  1905,  —  poor  Pam  advancing  in  years  at  a 
horrible  speed. 

However,  having  started  the  group  in  or  about  the 
year  1895  and  they  and  their  new  friends  having  carried 
me  on  with  them,  I  can  now  do  no  more  than  hope  that 
this  apology  for  their  eccentricities  may  be  sufficient 
for  those  who  care  to  see  more  of  them. 


2228477 


PART   I    ^    CHAPTER   I 


IN  spite  of  the  amazing  whirls  that  modern  days  and 
modern  ways  give  to  the  poor  old  wheel  of  chance,  it 
was  even  now  a  more  or  less  unusual  experience  that 
lay  before  Lord  Kingsmead  that  November  day  as  he 
got  into  the  dog-cart  that  was  waiting  for  him  at  the 
little  station. 

A  supremely  correct  little  dog-cart,  conventional  in 
every  way,  similar  in  its  perfect  appointments  to  hun- 
dreds of  other  dog-carts  ;  and  yet  its  very  perfection, 
the  immaculate  immobility  of  the  blue-chinned  groom, 
the  beauty  of  the  muscular  grey  cob,  the  smartness  of 
the  grey  cob's  harness  —  all  these  things  in  themselves 
accentuated  the  unusual  quality  of  the  situation. 

"  It  is  like  eating  white  truffle  salad  for  the  first  time, 
or  seeing  one's  first  Botticelli,"  the  young  man  thought, 
tucking  the  rug  round  his  legs  and  turning  up  his  coat- 
collar,  "  or  like  what  that  chap  of  Keats'  must  have 
thought,  what  's-his-name  on  a  peak  of  Darien.  It  's  a 
real  adventure." 

Without  meaning  to  do  so  he  uttered  the  last  words 
aloud,  and  the  groom  turned,  touching  his  hat. 

"  Beg  pardon,  my  lord?  " 

1 


2  KINGSMEAD 

And  then  another  curious  thing  happened.  For 
Kingsmead  answered,  addressing  him  by  the  name  of 
the  last  servant  who  had  driven  him  over  that  muddy 
winding  road :  "  Nothing,  Thomas  —  I  was  thinking." 

And  Thomas,  whose  name  was  William,  wondered. 

Kingsmead,  as  the  cart  bowled  briskly  along,  recalled 
the  last  day,  much  such  a  day  as  this  one,  when  he  had 
driven  that  way,  stolid  Thomas  Berry  by  his  side.  It 
had  rained  then  as  it  was  raining  now,  in  little  gusts 
that  seemed  blown  down  from  the  bare  trees  that  edged 
the  road;  it  had  been  chill  then  as  it  was  chill  now; 
but  that  other  rain  had  rained  on  a  distressed  and  sad 
boy  of  sixteen,  whereas  it  rained  now  on  a  young  man 
of  twenty-three,  neither  distressed  nor  sad,  although 
there  was  in  the  circumstances  of  his  present  coming  a 
certain  element  of  the  pathetic  that  he  would  have 
been  quick  to  recognise  in  the  case  of  any  other  than 
himself. 

Ah !  —  there  to  his  right  the  church,  looking  with  its 
squat  tower  like  a  mouldy  pudding  in  an  unsuccessful 
green-brown  sauce.  Then  came  the  village,  an  ugly 
village,  dating,  the  greater  part  of  it,  from  the  painful 
architectural  period  of  the  eighteen-forties  and  fifties. 
There  was  the  inn,  the  Plough  and  Pig,  relic  of  an 
earlier  period,  presenting  a  pleasant  arched  doorway 
with  glimpses  of  a  courtyard  that  stirred  vague 
Pickwickian  memories  in  Kingsmead's  mind.  Then 
the  sweetstuff-shop,  with  apparently  the  same  jar  of 


KINGSMEAD  3 

almond-rock  that  had  tempted  him  in  his  childhood. 
Then  came  the  bridge,  and  at  its  farther  end  the  old 
toll-house,  still  showing  signs  of  a  former  red  hue. 

"  Is  that  a  little  Spink?  "  asked  the  young  man  sud- 
denly as  they  passed  this  last  house. 

The  groom,  as  he  touched  his  hat,  blushed. 

"  No,  my  lord,"  he  stammered,  glaring  at  the  vio- 
lently waving  child  who  was  the  object  of  the  inquiry 
as  if  he  had  never  seen  it  before  and  thoroughly  dis- 
approved of  its  existence,  "  it 's  mine  —  I  mean  to  say, 
my  lord,  I  —  I  —  married  Louisa  Spink,  my  lord." 

And  Kingsmead  suddenly  felt  lonely,  and  old,  and  a 
relic  of  a  former  generation,  for  he  had  known  Louisa 
Spink,  and  given  her  a  white  rabbit  and  secretly  ad- 
mired her  red  curls,  when  she  was  the  age  of  the  child 
that  waved. 

After  a  ten-minutes'  trot  between  bare  and  lumpy 
fields,  trees  again  lined  the  road,  and  behind  the  right- 
hand  row  a  stone  wall  was  just  visible  in  the  evening 
light.  Kingsmead  looked  at  this  wall  and  saw  that  it 
appeared  lower  and  sadly  shabbier  than  of  old,  when  it 
had  been  to  him  a  barrier  unscalable  by  any  but  a  giant. 

"  Is  old  Mills  still  alive,  Thomas  —  what  is  your 
name,  by  the  way?  "  he  added  suddenly,  catching  him- 
self up. 

"  William,  sir  —  I  mean  to  say  my  lord,"  touching 
his  hat  again,  while  his  interlocutor  wished  it  were  not 
necessary  for  one  young  man  to  so  often  touch  his  hat 


4  KINGSMEAD 

to  another.  "  No,  my  lord,  'e  's  dead,  old  Mills  is, 
thank  you,  my  lord." 

"And  Mr.  Green?" 

"  Mr.  Green  'as  left,  my  lord.  A  year  ago  he  went. 
'E  did  n't  get  on  well  with  Mr.  Teddy,  my  lord." 

"Humph!" 

Kingsmead  pulled  his  coat-collar  closer  about  his  ears, 
for  it  was  raining  hard  now.  "  And  Mr.  Smith?  " 

"  Dead,  my  lord,  thank  you.  They  say  it  was  'is 
liver.  Will  your  lordship  not  'ave  the  umbrella  ?  " 

But  Kingsmead  shook  his  head  and  sat  huddled  in 
his  place,  unconscious  or  comfortably  disregardful  of 
his  discomfort,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  quick,  light 
eyes  looking  eagerly  about  him. 

This  quiet,  inconspicuous  eagerness  appeared  to  be 
a  thing  very  characteristic  of  him,  and  it  was. 

The  cart  turned  in  at  the  lodge-gate,  where  a  bril- 
liant electric  light  showed  new  paint  and  a  general  air 
of  spick-and-spanness  at  which  Kingsmead  smiled  in  his 
collar. 

"  There  's  an  oak  gone  over  there  to  the  left,"  he 
observed  presently,  at  a  turning  in  the  avenue,  —  "a 
big  fellow  with  huge  roots." 

The  groom's  eyes  followed  his.  "  Yes,  my  lord,  that 
went  two  years  ago,  and  last  year  a  big  helium  near 
the  'ouse  was  struck  by  lightning  and  they  'ad  to  cut 
it  down." 

"A-a-a-h!" 


KINGSMEAD  5 

Without  turning  his  head  the  servant  looked  at 
his  companion  and  saw  that  his  irregular,  pale,  small 
face  was  lighted  up  with  a  sudden  brilliant  pallor  of 
excitement. 

"  The  carp-pond !  Good  old  carp-pond !  There  used 
to  be  an  old  brute  of  a  fish  in  it  that  they  said  was 
over  a  hundred  years  old.  Do  you  happen  to  know  if 
he's  still  alive,  William?" 

William  did  happen  to  know. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  one  of  the  stable-boys  was  a-talking 
about  'im  only  the  other  day.  'E  said  'is  back  was  all 
covered  with  moss,  my  lord." 

Kingsmead  burst  out  laughing,  his  small  white  teeth 
flashing  under  the  baby  moustache  that  looked  so  much 
more  like  a  finely  grown  eyebrow.  "  Don't  you  believe 
it,  the  stable-boy  is  a  —  poet !  I  've  known  that  carp 
all  my  life,  and  there  's  no  moss.  Ah !  "  His  voice 
dropped  suddenly,  for  they  had  taken  another  turn,  and 
there  in  the  dusk,  some  of  its  windows  already  lighted, 
stood  the  beautiful  old  Tudor  house. 

Tommy  Kingsmead  had  arrived  at  the  home  of  his 
fathers. 


CHAPTER   II 

KINGSMEAD  is  built  round  three  sides  of  a  quadrangle, 
and  opposite  the  open  side,  to  the  left,  is  the  low,  in- 
conspicuous door  under  its  ivy-hung  archway,  more  like 
the  door  of  a  small  church  than  the  principal  entrance 
to  a  great  house. 

This  door  opened  as  the  cart  stopped,  at  Kings- 
mead's  orders,  in  the  middle  of  the  courtyard,  and  the 
young  man  got  out.  For  a  sharp  second  his  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still  as  he  stood  looking  about  him  to 
the  sound  of  the  cob's  retreating  hoofs. 

Years  had  passed  since  he  had  seen  it,  the  old  place, 
and  the  opening,  on  a  dark,  wet  evening,  of  the  door, 
and  its  beautiful  revelation  of  light  and  comfort  within. 
Not  heeding  the  old  man  who  stood  in  the  doorway, 
Tommy  stood  looking  slowly  about  him. 

Some  of  the  upper  windows  were  lighted,  and  as  he 
watched,  those  of  the  great  hall  burst  into  gorgeous 
flower  against  the  darkness. 

It  was,  that  part  of  the  silent  building,  very  fairy- 
like,  for  the  pointed  windows  in  the  hall  were  of  ancient 
painted  glass  of  wonderful  colouring,  and  the  slender 
fluted  pillar  that  halved  each  of  them  looked  like  the 
stem  of  a  huge  magic  flower.  Against  the  black  sky  the 

6 


KINGSMEAD  7 

graceful  chimneys  were  barely  discernible,  but  Kings- 
mead  knew  them  so  well  that  he  could  almost  see  them. 

And  then,  just  before  him  the  open  door;  the  black 
panelled  walls ;  the  crimson  streak  of  the  stair-carpet ; 
the  blaze  and  cheer  of  the  leaping  fire. 

"  Poor  dear  old  place !  "  Kingsmead  spoke  aloud, 
quite  unconsciously,  his  voice  made  musical  by  his  tender 
appreciation  of  the  occasion. 

It  was,  he  felt,  quite  without  morbidity  or  even  an- 
alysis of  his  own  sensations,  an  episode  that  was  des- 
tined to  become  a  memory.  He  would  remember,  years 
hence,  this  wet  home-coming  that  was  yet  coming  to  the 
gates  of  a  stranger.  And  he  would  recall,  resee,  the 
open  door  and  the  firelight  within. 

"  It  —  it  is  raining,  my  lord." 

The  old  man  at  the  door  poked  his  head  a  trifle  for- 
ward, with  the  movement  of  a  respectfully  anxious 
turtle.  "  Would  your  lordship  not  like  an  umbrella  ?  " 

It  was  a  rather  absurd  question,  but  Kingsmead  real- 
ised as  he  smiled  at  it  that  his  standing  serenely  there 
in  a  pouring  rain  gazing  at  a  barely  visible  house  must 
look  at  least  as  absurd  as  the  speaker. 

"  Thank  you,  no.     I  will  come  in." 

Thus  he  entered  the  house  he  had  last  seen  on  the 
occasion  of  his  mother's  funeral,  and  put  his  hat  down 
on  the  table  on  which  as  a  lad  he  had  been  wont  to  toss 
his  cap  a  dozen  times  a  day. 

The  hall,  he  saw  with  a  little  thrill  of  relief  that  sur- 


8  KINGSMEAD 

prised  him,  for  he  had  not  expected  to  find  it  the  same, 
was  unchanged.  He  was  glad,  too,  this  time  without 
any  surprise,  not  to  be  met  by  powdered  footmen. 

The  butler  looked  a  decent  old  chap ;  but  then  Lan- 
sing had  certainly  been  born  with  the  most  extraor- 
dinary sense  of  the  correct. 

"  My  luggage,"  he  said,  giving  his  clothes  a  shake 
and  turning  down  his  collar,  "  is  coming  on  in  a  cart 
or  something.  I  suppose  Mr.  Lansing  is  in?  I  mean 
young  Mr.  Lansing." 

The  old  man,  fixing  on  him  two  very  shrewd  and 
kindly  blue  eyes,  hesitated.  "  No,  my  lord,  —  I  mean 
to  say  Lord  Kingsmead,  —  'e  's  out.  That  is  to  say, 
I  think  'e  is." 

Tommy,  absent-minded,  smoothed  back  his  wet  fair 
hair  and  wiped  his  face  with  his  handkerchief. 

"Then  will  you  tell  Mrs.  Lansing,  please?  You 
know  who  I  am." 

"  Yes,  my  lord  —  I  mean  to  say  —  I  —  I  am  Mr. 
Lansing." 

If  one  of  the  ancient  and  rusty  weapons  on  the  walls 
had  suddenly  gone  off  with  a  loud  report  poor  Tommy 
could  not  have  been  more  startled. 

"  Accidents!  "  he  exclaimed,  his  face  scarlet. 

Then,  holding  out  his  still  damp  hand,  he  laughed  — 
a  situation-saving  laugh  that  was  priceless  at  the  mo- 
ment. "  Then  why  on  earth,"  he  cried,  "  if  you  have  a 
mania  for  opening  your  own  door,  have  n't  you  the 


KINGSMEAD  9 

grace  to  come  out  of  that  corner  so  that  a  fellow  can 
see  you  ?  " 

Old  Analyte  Lansing  shook  his  hand  warmly. 

"  It  was  n't  that,  my  lord,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  mean 
that  you  could  n't  see  me.  My  butler  is  much  grander 
than  me.  You  're  very  kind  not  to  be  annoyed.  But, 
you  see,  —  you  won't  tell  Teddy  I  did  it,  will  you  ?  But 
I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  that  —  I  wanted  you  to  under- 
stand that "  He  broke  off  nervously,  fingering  his 

old-fashioned  tie  with  short  red  fingers  that  shook,  and 
clearing  his  throat. 

Then,  with  the  air  of  a  man  taking  his  first  fence  on 
a  strange  horse,  he  hurried  on: 

"  It  may  be  just  one  of  my  blunders  to  say  it,  but 
I  've  been  thinking  about  it  ever  since  Teddy  told  us 
that  you  were  coming.  It 's  this,  my  lord  —  I  mean  to 
say  Lord  Kingsmead.  Much  as  I  love  Kingsmead  — 
and  I  do  love  it,  even  if  I  ain't  altogether  up  to  appre- 
ciating it  —  much  as  I  love  the  old  place,  sir,  it  —  it 
goes  to  my  heart  to  be  receiving  you  in  it,  when  it 
ought  to  be  the  other  way  round.  Not,"  he  added, 
with  a  little  laugh,  "  that  you  'd  ha'  been  likely  ever 
to  invite  me."  Tommy's  mouth,  which  had  deep-set, 
upturned  corners,  gave  one  twitch.  Then  he  met  the 
respectfully  pitying  eyes  of  his  host  with  a  beautiful 
gravity. 

"  I  really  am  d-delighted  to  come,  Mr.  Lansing,"  he 
returned  with  his  slight  stammer.  "  I  know  what  you 


10  KINGSMEAD 

mean,  and  it  is  —  charming  of  you  to  think  of  it,  but 
I  really  am  delighted  to  come." 

The  old  man  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief.  "  Well, 
it  's  kind  of  you  to  take  it  like  that  —  it  is  indeed,  my 
lord.  But  you  see  we  have  made  a  few  changes  in  the 
place  —  not  many,  but  still  a  few,  my  daughter  Inez 
being  very  cultivated  —  and  —  I  thought  it  was  bound 
to  be  a  little  painful  to  you  at  first.  So  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  'd  tell  you,  on  the  quiet,  that  although  I  do 
enjoy  owning  it  more  than  anything  in  the  world,  I  do 
'ave  every  sympathy  with  you,  and  that  I  'm  —  well,  sir, 
just  damn  sorry  for  you!  " 

This  unexpected  finish  was  vastly  better,  and  Tommy 
laughed  quite  frankly,  much  relieved. 

"  I  can  only  repeat  that  I  am  really  very  glad  to 
come,  and  please  don't  be  sorry  for  me.  You  see,  it 's 
all  quite  satisfactory ;  you  needed  a  house  and  I  needed 
money,  so  we  are  both  content.  And  —  let 's  be  friends, 
Mr.  Lansing,  shall  we?  " 

He  held  out  his  hand  again,  and  the  beaming  old  man 
shook  it  warmly.  "  Zte-lighted,  my  lord  —  Lord  Kings- 
mead  —  delighted  and  proud.  You  won't  tell  Teddy, 
though,  will  you?  "  he  added  hastily,  cocking  his  head 
on  one  side  and  looking  toward  the  stairs.  "  I  believe 
that 's  'im,  after  all " 

As  he  spoke  the  light  on  the  landing  was  switched  on, 
and  a  young  man  came  down  the  stairs. 

Now  the  Kingsmeads  were  a  handsome  race,  with  the 


KINGSMEAD  11 

exception  of  the  present  earl.  Tommy's  father  had 
been  very  handsome,  and  his  grandfather,  and  the 
house  was  full  of  portraits  of  beautiful  Meads,  men 
and  women,  of  all  periods.  Yet  no  Mead  had  ever 
made,  coming  down  the  old  black  stairway,  a  more 
splendid  picture  than  did  now  the  son  of  old  Bath-tub 
Lansing. 

He  was  just  Tommy's  age,  but  nearly  a  head  taller; 
he  was  blond,  and  curly-haired  and  straight-nosed,  and 
a  dozen  other  odious-sounding  things,  but  because  he 
was  also  broad-shouldered,  narrow-flanked,  and  strong- 
necked  he  escaped  any  taint  of  femininity  or  manniquvn- 
isme  and  gave  as  much  joy  to  any  unprejudiced,  un- 
jealous  eye,  male  or  female,  as  did  ever  a  beautiful  ath- 
lete in  the  days  of  Greece's  glory. 

"Hello,  Tommy!" 

"  Hello,  Lanner !  " 

The  two  young  men  shook  hands  in  a  way  that  be- 
spoke real  affection,  the  splendid  Teddy  beaming  down 
at  his  guest,  and  Tommy,  delicate,  spare,  twinkling  of 
eye  and  faunlike  of  mouth,  beaming  back  up  at  him,  with 
a  sweet,  crooked  smile. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  old  chap,"  went  on  Lansing,  his 
left  hand  still  on  his  friend's  shoulder.  "  I  meant  to 
go  and  meet  you,  but  I  —  I  was  out,  and  to  tell  the 
truth,  did  n't  notice  how  late  it  was  —  and  then  I  fell 
asleep  over  a  book." 

"  Never  mind,  I  have  been  having  a  talk  with  your 


12  KINGSMEAD 

father.  I  say,  Teddy,  lend  me  a  pair  of  shoes,  will 
you?  My  feet  are  soaked." 

Teddy  burst  out  laughing.  "  Good  old  Miss  Tabitha ! 
Right-ho,  come  along  to  my  room." 

"  Won't  you  'ave  a  whisky  and  soda?  "  put  in  old 
Lansing  anxiously.  "  You  may  'ave  taken  cold,  and 
there  's  pneumonia  about,  I  'm  told " 

"  No,  thanks.  I  am  a  hopelessly  abstemious  young 
man,  as  Lanner  will  tell  you.  But  I  should  like  some 
tea." 

The  two  young  men  went  slowly  upstairs,  Teddy's 
arm  round  Tommy's  shoulder,  and  old  Lansing  watched 
them  out  of  sight. 

Then,  rubbing  his  hands  together  in  a  satisfied  man- 
ner, he  proceeded  down  the  narrow  panelled  passage  to 
the  Great  Hall. 


CHAPTER    III 

THE  Great  Hall  was,  of  course,  brilliantly  lighted,  and 
close  to  the  enormous  fireplace,  in  which  burned  a  bright 
fire,  stood,  as  it  seemed  to  Tommy,  when  he  and  Teddy 
came  downstairs  a  few  moments  later,  several  tea-tables. 

This  overabundance  of  silver  and  food  was  due,  he  in- 
stantly and  rightly  decided,  to  the  cultivation  of  the 
daughter  of  the  house. 

This  young  lady,  dark-faced  and  shrewd-eyed,  sat 
behind  a  large  bubbling  kettle,  and  from  the  breastworks 
of  silver  surveyed  the  newcomer  with  the  greatest  self- 
possession.  Miss  Lansing  wore  a  dark  coat  and  skirt 
and  a  pink  shirt,  and  looked  as  if  she  had  just  come  in 
from  a  walk. 

Now  Tommy  was  very  young,  and  had  lived  for  the 
last  few  years  in  a  remote  part  of  Italy,  far  from  Eng- 
lish girls  and  their  ways ;  yet  he  knew  by  a  kind  of  in- 
stinct, as  he  made  his  bow  to  her,  that  Inez  Lansing's 
natural  choice  in  the  matter  of  a  costume  to  be  worn  at 
tea  would  be  an  elaborate  and  fluffy  tea-gown.  He 
seemed  to  see  her,  with  the  trick  of  semi-involuntary  vis- 
ualisation that  was  his,  draped  in  a  pale  pink  garment  of 
flowing  lines  and  artistic  sleeves.  And  he  knew  that  her 

present  rough  country  clothes  were  not  the  outcome  of 

13 


14  KINGSMEAD 

a  personal  taste,  but  of  a  close  observation  of  what  some 
woman  she  admired  wore  in  the  country. 

He  knew  that  the  girl  did  not  like  the  country ;  that 
she  did  not  like  walking;  that  she  did  not  like  heavy 
shoes ;  that  she  admired  high-heeled  slippers,  and  liked 
sitting  in  warm  rooms  eating  chocolate  and  reading 
novels.  And  he  knew,  this  curiously  illuminated  Tommy, 
that  the  sense  of  the  correct  he  so  admired  in  Teddy 
became,  in  the  girl,  a  decidedly  unpleasant  and  monkey- 
like  gift  for  imitation.  Meantime,  Miss  Lansing  was, 
he  felt,  giving  him  a  very  clever  representation  of  a 
young  lady  pouring  tea  for  a  gentleman. 

"  You  must  have  got  jolly  wet,"  she  began,  shaking 
the  teapot  knowingly.  "  I  wanted  to  send  something 
with  a  top  to  it,  but  Ted  says  you  loathe  motors." 

"  I  do.  I  'm  proud  to  say  I  have  n't  been  in  one  of 
the  things  for  over  four  years.  Do  you  like  'em?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  again,  he  felt,  in  good  imi- 
tation of  her  to  him  unknown  model. 

"  Oh,  no  —  but  they  do  get  one  about  quickly,  don't 
they?  Sugar?" 

"  Yes,  please,  lots.  No,  no,  three  's  enough.  Yes,  I 
do  hate  the  brutes  —  motors,  I  mean  —  nasty,  smelly 
things.  I  have  been  living  for  the  last  three  years  in 
a  blessed  spot  where  the  roads  are  so  bad  no  motor  could 
get  within  a  mile  of  me.  Could  they,  Lanner  ?  " 

Teddy,  who  was  eating  cake  with  an  innocently  dis- 
played gourmanderie  rather  pleasant  to  see,  shook  his 


KINGSMEAD  15 

head.  "  Not  they !  Nor  anything  else  bar  humans  and 
donkeys.  Lord,  that  climb  on  a  hot  day!  How  are 
they  all,  Tommy  —  Emilia  and  Battista,  and  that  j  oily 
little  beggar  of  the  washerwoman's  ?  " 

Tommy  beamed.  "  All  right,  the  dears.  Emilia  gave 
me  a  blessed  medal  when  I  came  away.  I  was  to  wear 
it  as  a  charm  to  keep  off  the  evil  eye.  The  baby  has  a 
little  sister  now  —  the  reddest  hair  you  ever  saw.  Not 
so  jolly  as  our  baby,  though." 

Teddy  took  his  tea  and  more  cake.  "  Remember  that 
ripping  thunderstorm  one  night?  And  what's-his-name, 
Emilia's  son,  the  fisherman,  down  on  his  knees  in  the 
kitchen  praying?  Rum  lot,  the  Italians,"  he  ended 
complacently. 

Tommy  grinned.  "  Yet  when  one  gets  to  know  them," 
he  returned,  "  they  seem  almost  like  human  beings." 

But  Lansing  did  not  understand,  and  only  nodded,  as 
one  who  yields  an  unimportant  point. 

There  was  a  short  pause,  and  then  Tommy  turned 
again  to  the  girl  behind  the  tea-table. 

"  Do  you  like  living  here  ?  "  he  asked  politely. 

She   hesitated   for   an    almost   imperceptible    second, 

and  then  returned,  as  she  reached  for  some  bread  and 

butter,  "  Oh  yes,  I  adore  the  house  —  as  who  would  n't? 

—  but  —  the    people    are    a    bit    stodgy,    don't    you 

think?" 

Tommy's  clear  light  eyes  met  hers  as  she  finished,  and 
with  a  little  start,  as  of  one  who  hastily  retraces  a  mis- 


16  KINGSMEAD 

step  on  a  strange  path,  she  added,  "  You  see,  Lord 
Kingsmead,  as  to  the  people,  I  don't  know  them.  It  is 
a  very  old-fashioned  neighbourhood,  and  —  lots  of  the 
people  have  n't  called.  I  suppose  because  of  the  Bath- 
tubs, which  is,"  she  laughed  lightly,  "  ungrateful  of 
them,  for  I  am  sure  there  are  no  such  good  bath-tubs 
in  the  world  as  the  Analyte !  " 

It  was  well  done,  but  it  was  an  excellent  imitation  of 
what  tihat  other  young  woman  whom  Tommy  did  not 
know  would  have  done  had  her  social  path  been  blocked, 
fo  to  speak,  by  a  bath-tub. 

Tommy  handed  her  his  cup.  "  Do  you  know  my 
sister?"  he  asked  slowly.  The  moment  had  come,  he 
knew,  when  he  must  ask  it,  although  his  sister  had 
written  to  him  about  Inez,  so  that  he  felt,  as  he  waited 
for  her  answer,  a  thoroughly  dishonourable  person. 

Jnez  smiled.  "  Ah  yes.  She  is  different.  Because 
she  is  —  well,  above  noticing  bath-tubs !  How  beautiful 
she  is,  Lord  Kingsmead !  " 

It  was  again  almost  painfully  clever,  and  Tommy 
was  in  a  curious  way  distressed  by  her  cleverness. 

"  Yes,  she  is  very  beautiful.  And  —  very  dear.  She 
does  n't  know  I  am  here.  I  must  go  to  see  her  to- 
morrow." 

Inez  stared,  and  this  stare  was  genuine. 

"  Does  n't  know  you  are  here?  " 

"  No.  You  see  —  she  would  have  wanted  me  to  go 
to  her.  And  I  wanted,  first,  to  come  —  to  Kingsmead. 


KINGSMEAD  17 

I  am,  you  will  think,  a  very  romantic  little  beggar,  ancj 
I  may  be.  But  —  well,  I  just  wanted  to  come  straight 
here  on  landing." 

Teddy  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  thin  knee. 

"  Of  course  you  did,  old  chap.  It  will  be  a  jolly  sur- 
prise for  her,  won't  it?  " 

Tommy's  smile  was  more  than  usually  crooked  as  he 
answered :  "  Yes.  It  has  been  two  years  since  I  was 
here.  She  was  at  the  Castelletto  then,  you  know,  Lan- 
ner,  on  her  way  to  Japan." 

"  I  saw  her  the  other  day  on  my  way  to  —  to  see  a 
friend.  And  she 's  the  best-looking  woman  in  these 
parts,  even  yet." 

Tommy's  eyebrows  climbed  toward  his  hair  in  a  comi- 
cal way.  "  Even  yet?  " 

"  Ted  is  an  idiot,"  put  in  Inez.  "  She  is  perfectly 
beautiful,  and  —  she  will  never  lose  her  looks." 

Lansing  laughed,  a  little  annoyed.  "  Who  said  she 
would,  Inez?  I  only  meant  —  little  Lady  Brinley  is 
only  twenty,  a»d  Mrs.  Albert  Strangways  well  under 
thirty " 

Inez  laughed.  "  I  don't  know  Lady  Brinley.  Oh, 
Lord  Kingsmead,  she  will  amuse  you.  She  was  Lottie 
or  Tottie  somebody  of  the  Gaiety,  and  now  —  she  is 
too  deliciously  grand  for  words.  Most  particular  as  to 
whom  she  knows,  and  Bath-tubs  are  much  more  than 
she  can  bear !  " 

Tommy  joined  in  her  laugh. 


18  KINGSMEAD 

"  How  painful  for  her !  I  did  n't  even  know  poor  old 
Brinley  was  dead." 

"  Yes,  he  died  a  year  ago,  was  n't  it,  Ted?  And  now 
the  little  dancing-girl  reigns  at  the  Hall.  It  is  funny. 
She  amuses  Lady  Pontefract  extremely,  by  the  way." 

But  Tommy  had  forgotten  little  Lady  Brinley  and 
was  thinking  again  of  his  sister,  his  Brigit,  his  plain 
face  a  little  flushed  as  he  realised  that  only  one  night 
must  pass  before  he  should  see  her.  When  he  spoke 
again  it  was  in  answer  to  a  question,  and  his  stammer 
was  a  little  more  marked  than  usual,  as  it  always  was 
when  he  was  moved. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  left  Oxford?  "  Inez  asked. 

"  T-three  years.  I  was  t-there  only  one  term,  Miss 
Lansing,  as  Teddy  will  have  told  you.  The  W-wretched 
Beast,  my  health,  began  to  growl  there,  and  they  packed 
me  off  to  Italy.  I  did  n't  much  mind,  though,"  he  added, 
so  great  was  his  dislike  for  his  interlocutor. 

Then,  before  she  could  answer,  he  added  gravely, 
"  That  is,  I  did  mind,  only  —  it  could  n't  be  helped." 

Inez  looked  at  him.  "  I  understand,"  she  said  in  a 
soft  voice.  But  Tommy  knew  that  she  did  not  under- 
stand ;  that  there  was  between  him  and  her  a  gulf  that 
no  cleverness,  no  adaptability  on  her  part  could  ever 
bridge.  She  might  pretend,  she  might  even  believe,  in 
her  curious  eagerness  to  approach  those  who  were  in 
any  way  above  her,  that  she  understood  him,  but  it  was 
not,  and  he  was  glad  to  think  never  could  be,  true. 


KINGSMEAD  19 

However,  Tommy's  was  a  gentle  spirit,  and  looking 
at  her  he  smiled  in  default  of  the  to  him  fundamentally 
impossible  lie  —  the  smile  that  had  endeared  him  to  more 
people  than  he  had  ever  dreamed  of. 

And  as  he  sat  there,  smiling,  by  the  fireside  that 
should  have  been  his,  old  Lansing,  who  had  come  in  in 
time  to  hear  his  remarks  about  his  health,  watched  him 
with  a  strange  feeling  of  sympathetic  comprehension. 
Lansing  was,  he  believed  of  himself,  ignorant,  vulgar, 
and  a  ball  and  chain  on  the  socially  ambitious  leg  of  his 
son.  Yet  somehow  the  old  man  knew  that  he,  and  he 
only  of  the  three  people  present,  understood  the  poor 
little  poverty-stricken  earl  sitting  there  by  the  fireside 
that  should  have  been  his. 

"  It  was  a  shame,  that  was,  Lord  Kingsmead,  that 
you  should  'ave  'ad  to  leave  Oxford."  The  old  man's 
voice  was  so  much  more  assured  than  usual  that  both 
his  son  and  his  daughter  glanced  at  him  in  astonishment. 

Tommy  nodded  gently.  "  Yes.  I  loved  Oxford.  But 
the  Wretched  Beast  clamoured  —  and  t-then,  I  love 
Italy.  I  have  there,"  he  went  on  after  a  short  silence, 
"  a  little  old  castle  by  the  sea  —  the  remains  of  a  forti- 
fied place  of  the  middle  ages.  It  is  only  a  tower,  — 
probably  once  one  of  several,  and  a  scrap  of  bastion 
and  a  tiny  garden  in  which  grow  the  most  peaceable 
vegetables,  under  its  battlemented  wall.  There  are  four 
rooms,  including  the  kitchen,  and  the  path  leading  up 
—  it  is  on  a  very  high  hill  overhanging  the  sea  —  goes 


20  KINGSMEAD 

through  olive-groves.  On  the  wall  of  the  bastion  grow 
big  prickly-pears,  and  as  one  looks  down  one  sees  the 
grey  lace  of  the  olives,  and  the  blue  sea  —  the  very  blue 
sea.  That  is  where  I  went  after  my  banishment  from 
Oxford  —  after  a  year's  wandering  with  my  tutor.  And 
there  is  where  I  have  lived,  quite  alone  since  Mr.  Erskine 
left  me.  It  was  lonely,  I  suppose,  but  I  loved  it,  Mr. 
Lansing  —  and  there  I  learned  to  read.  Anyone  can 
learti  to  read  in  solitude,  whereas  at  Oxford,"  he  laughed, 
"  only  the  very  big  ones  have  time  for  books !  " 

Inez,  watching  him,  resented,  somehow,  his  manner 
with  her  father.  He  was  with  the  old  man  talking  with 
open  visor,  as  he  had  not  done  with  her. 

Suddenly  she  leaned  across  the  table.  "  You  used  to 
play  the  violin,  didn't  you?"  she  asked  crisply.  And 
Tommy  shrank  as  though  she  had  struck  him. 

"  Give  me  some  more  tea,  will  you,  Inez  ?  "  exclaimed 
Teddy  with  a  fierce  frown. 

The  girl  stared,  and  Tommy,  in  the  midst  of  his  sensi- 
tive pain,  saw  that  she  had  spoken  in  all  innocence. 

"  I  used  to  try,  Miss  Lansing,"  he  returned  distinctly, 
"  but  —  the  Wretched  Beast  again  —  think  how  depress- 
ing, to  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  W.  B. !  —  the  Wretched 
Beast  growled,  and  tore  my  fiddle  from  me.  It  was 
hard,  but  though  I  loved  it,  I  had,  after  all,  no  very 
great  talent.  It  is,"  he  added  less  lightly,  "  a  great 
thing  to  be  able  to  appreciate  good  music,  and  that  I 
think  I  can  do.  Do  you  like  music?  " 


KINGSMEAD  21 

"  Yes,  very  much.  I  adore  it.  That  is,"  she  added, 
to  her  own  surprise,  as  she  met  his  quiet  gaze,  "  I  know 
very  little  about  it." 

"  Good !  How  wise  of  you  to  acknowledge  the  fact ! 
Now  —  should  you  think  me  too  greedy  if  I  asked  for 
another  cup  of  tea?  " 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  two  young  men  sat  late  that  night  over  the  fire  in 
the  smoking-room,  for  it  was  over  a  year  since  Teddy's 
last  hasty  visit  to  the  Castelletto  by  the  sea,  and  many 
things  were  waiting  to  be  said.  This  accumulation  of 
thoughts  that  can  and  must  be  communicated  to  differ- 
ent friends  is  a  curious  thing.  There  are  those  whose 
brains  seem  pigeonholed  and  stored  with  motley  assorted 
ideas  labelled,  if  only  subconsciously,  "  for  Mary,"  "  for 
Jack,"  etc.  And  the  contents  of  those  pigeonholes  are 
quite  uninterchangeable. 

Tommy  Kingsmead  was  one  of  these  people,  and 
his  Teddy  pigeonhole  was  full;  whereas  Teddy,  un- 
pigeonholed,  could  almost  as  easily  have  told  his 
collection  of  impressions  and  ideas  to  the  first  friendly 
comer. 

Almost,  but  not  quite,  after  all,  for  the  two  had 
been  friends  during  Tommy's  one  term  at  Oxford,  their 
rooms  had  been  on  the  same  landing,  and  often  and 
often  they  had  sat  together,  as  they  sat  now,  talking 
until  morning  over  a  friendly,  sleepy  fire.  These 
tete-a-tetes  at  night,  in  the  midst  of  dark  stillness,  are 
things  that  knit  people's  hearts  and  minds  rather  closely 
together. 

22 


KINGSMEAD  23 

"  Tommy,"  began  Teddy  after  a  long  pause,  during 
which  he  had  tenderly  filled  his  pipe,  "  I  was  awfully 
sorry  about  —  what  Inez  said  about  your  playing." 

"Dear  old  chap!  Didn't  matter  a  bit.  I  jumped, 
rather,  and  you  saw  it,  but  that 's  only  because  I  am  a 
silly  little  ass." 

"  Silly  little  ass  be  blowed !  "  muttered  the  beautiful 
Teddy,  unsentimentally  as  to  words,  but,  his  friend 
knew,  very  sentimentally  as  to  thought.  "I  —  it  is  a 
shame  about  it.  I  suppose  you  never  play  now?  " 

Tommy  looked  at  him  with  a  whimsical  grin  from 
the  hearth-rug  where  he  sat  clasping  his  knees,  rather 
groomlike  in  the  faint  firelight. 

"  I  never  did  play,  you  know.  Used  to  try  —  used 
to  scrape.  You  used  to  listen,  like  a  dear." 

"  I  liked  it." 

"  Well  —  yes,  perhaps  you  did,  but  then  you  always 
did  have  thundering  bad  artistic  taste.  No,  I  never 
*  play  '  now.  You  see  when  I  went  down  they  forbade 
me  to  touch  the  fiddle  for  a  year.  At  the  end  of  the 
year  —  we  were  in  Florence,  and  it  was  spring  —  I 
began  again.  Have  I  told  you?  There  was  a  little 
chap,  a  hunchback,  who  came  to  teach  me.  And  he  was 
rather  hopeful  about  me.  So  I  —  well,  overwork  I  did, 
and  break  down  I  did  —  and  that  has  all  happened  re- 
peatedly. You  see,"  he  added  quietly,  "  I  've  not  the 
strength  for  it.  It 's  the  hardest  work  in  the  world. 
Besides,  I  go  mad  over  it  —  it  upsets  me  so  frightfully 


24  KINGSMEAD 

because  I  love  it  so.  I  '11  tell  you,  Teddy,  what  I  feel 
when  I  hear  a  real  violinist  violining." 

He  paused  and  gazed  into  the  fire,  a  quaint  look  of 
age  on  his  young  face. 

"  I  feel  as  if  the  music  —  not  what  is  being  played, 
but  the  tones  of  the  violin  —  was  a  voice  —  a  voice  that 
used  to  be  mine.  Understand?  " 

Teddy  nodded  dubiously  as  he  puffed  at  his  very  evil 
pipe. 

"  Well  —  as  if  it  were  my  own  voice  of  some  other 
incarnation  telling  me  all  about  that  other  incarnation. 
And  —  in  those  days  it  appears,"  he  smiled  amusedly, 
"  that  I  used  to  be  a  large,  strong,  muscular  person  of 
genius.  That  I  was  beautiful  and  useful  and  athletic 
and  brutally  healthy  —  like  you  —  only  that  I  could 
play.  My  word,  how  I  could  play  when  I  was  that  other 
youth !  And  the  violin,  you  see,  goes  on  telling  me  these 
vainglorious  things  until  I  almost  believe  it,  and  then  — 
when  it  stops  —  I  look  down  at  my  little  present  self  in 
a  kind  of  amazed  horror." 

"  How  —  how  awfully  odd !  "  said  Teddy  seriously, 
half  shyly. 

"  Yes.  Odd,  and  enthralling,  and  very  —  exhausting. 
The  other  Tommy  was  really  rather  splendid,  and  never 
got  tired,  whereas  this  Tommy,  poor  little  worm,  is  — 
as  you  know  him." 

"And  the  fiddle?" 

Tommy  took  up  the  poker  and  pushed  back  into  the 


KINGSMEAD  25 

glowing  ashes  a  charred  bit  of  wood  that  had  forgotten 
to  go  on  burning. 

"  Oh,  the  fiddle,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "  is  upstairs 
in  the  yellow  room.  I  always  have  it  with  me.  I  love 
the  thing,  just  its  own  self,  even  apart  from  the  fact 
that  Joyselle  gave  it  to  me.  It 's  the  one,  you  know, 
on  which  he  played  when  he  first  played  in  public  —  be- 
fore he  got  his  Amati." 

"  I  know,  you  told  me.  I  say,  Tommy,  where  is  he 
now?  " 

"  In  Normandy,  with  his  own  people.  He  is  very  ill, 
you  know." 

"  Yes." 

Teddy  said  no  more,  for  he  was  discreet,  but  Tommy, 
after  a  pause,  went  on :  "  He  was  charmingly  good  to 
me  when  I  was  a  kid.  Used  to  play  for  me,  and  I  have 
stopped  in  his  house  for  weeks  at  a  time.  Ah,  Teddy, 
there  was  a  man!  A  great,  big,  strong,  cheery  chap 
with  thousands  of  snow-white  teeth,  so  that  he  looked 
when  he  laughed  as  if  he  were  lined  with  ivory.  And  so 
gay,  and  so  childlike !  And  then,  when  he  played,  it  all 
went,  and  he  was  just  Music  in  person.  He  was  a  god 
when  he  played,  no  matter  how  grotesquely  he  was 
dressed,  and  he  always  overdressed.  That 's  what  genius 
is,  having  the  power  of  letting  the  god  in  one  vanquish 
the  mere  man." 

"The  god?" 

"  Yes,  I  mean  the  divine,  the  highest,  not  the  holiest. 


26  KINGSMEAD 

He  certainly  was  n't  holy,  the  Master !  In  fact,"  added 
the  sage  on  the  hearth-rug,  "  I  never  heard  of  a  great 
artist  who  was,  bar  little  old  Fra  Angelico,  and  he,  poor 
dear,  had  to  be,  as  he  was  a  monk." 

There  was  a  long,  cosey  pause,  during  which  Teddy 
smoked  hard. 

Then  he  said  slowly,  not  looking  at  his  friend :  "  My 
governor  likes  you  awfully,  Tommy." 

"  Hooray !  I  like  him.  What  a  clever  face  he  has, 
Teddy." 

"  Yes.  He  said  that  you  and  he  understood  each 
other  from  the  first." 

"  So  we  did."    Tommy's  smile  was  internal. 

"  Well,  I  'm  awfully  glad,  old  fellow.  You  see, 
he 's  very  shy,  my  father,  with  —  with  people  like 
you " 

"  People  like  me?  "  asked  Tommy  quickly,  looking  up 
with  a  little  frown. 

"  Yes  —  I  mean  that  he  is  too  clever  not  to  know  the 
—  the  difference " 

"  O  Lord !  You  mean  *  people  like  me,'  earls  and 
things.  Teddy,  Teddy,  I  am  ashamed  of  you !  " 

"  I  knew  you  would  be.  But  it 's  true.  You  are  such 
an  arrant " 

"  I  'm  not  an  arrant  anything,  but  I  know  you  are  on 
the  point  of  having  a  snobbish  fit,  and  sur  ci  I  am  going 
to  bed." 

He  rose  and  stretched  lazily,  eyeing  his  friend  with  a 


KINGSMEAD  27 

kind  of  friendly  sternness.  "  Come  along,  it 's  after 
one,  and  I  want  my  beauty-sleep." 

Teddy  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and  rose 
obediently.  It  was  quaint  to  see  the  way  the  splendid 
youth  obeyed  his  little  friend,  and  quite  evidently  it  was 
a  habit  of  long  standing. 

They  went  upstairs  in  silence,  and  at  the  door  of  his 
room  Tommy  struck  Teddy  on  the  shoulder.  "  Good- 
night, my  child,"  he  said  gravely,  but  with  an  affec- 
tionate gleam  in  his  eye,  "  don't  be  an  ass." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  silk-and-lace  counterpane  drawn  smoothly  over  her, 
Lady  Pontef  ract  lay  in  bed,  reading  her  letters.  It  was, 
for  her,  very  early,  the  stable  clock  having  just  struck 
half-past  nine. 

On  a  little  white  lacquered  breakfast-tray,  a  very 
dwarf  among  tables,  its  tiny  feet  buried  in  the  lace  of 
the  counterpane,  stood  a  delicate  flowered  cup  and 
saucer  and  chocolate-pot.  On  the  Turkey  carpet  near 
the  bed  lay  a  scattered  heap  of  envelopes  torn  and 
crumpled,  tossed  down  by  the  hand  of  the  beautiful 
woman  now  engaged,  as  she  drank  her  chocolate,  in 
reading  their  contents. 

It  was  a  charming  room,  with  gay  chintz  curtains 
and  chair-covers,  and  through  the  big  windows  pleasant 
glimpses  of  misty  parkland. 

One  of  these  was  open,  and  on  the  hearth  burnt  a 
wood-fire,  whose  flickering  light  danced  over  the  room, 
drawing  glimmers  of  crystal  and  gold  from  the  lace- 
covered  dressing-table,  and  flirting  with  its  own  reflec- 
tion in  the  great  mirror  opposite  the  door. 

On  the  mantelpiece  stood  a  delightful  group  of  por- 
celain figures  —  Harlequin  and  Columbine ;  a  gypsy 
dancer;  a  black-coated  but  worldly-looking  young 

28 


KINGSMEAD  29 

abbe,  pon  Manon's  des  Grieux,  perhaps ;  a  shepherd 
playing  his  flute  to  his  fair  —  priceless,  poetic,  and 
suggestive. 

And  on  Lady  Pontefract's  awakening  her  maid  had 
brought  in  several  vases  of  roses,  whose  delicate  scent 
quickened  the  warm  air. 

The  bed,  a  thing  of  gilded  wicker  and  carved  wood, 
ancient  and  beautiful,  stood  out  from  the  wall,  and  over 
it  hung,  distinctly  gorgeous  and  different  from  the 
simple  prettiness  of  the  flowered  chintz,  a  wonderful  old 
rose-coloured  drapery  of  fringed  satin  brocade,  held  at 
the  corners  of  the  thin  fluted  pillars,  gleaming  faintly 
with  ancient  gilding,  by  delightful,  impossible,  pot- 
bellied little  gold  cupids,  with  heels  in  air  and  roses  in 
their  foolish  mouths. 

A  marvellous  bed,  but  no  more  marvellous  than  the 
lady  who  lay  in  it,  her  black  hair  plaited  and  lying  like 
long,  quiescent  serpents  by  her  sides. 

She  wore  a  rose-coloured  silk  jacket  over  her  night- 
gown, and  in  the  flattering  light  of  her  surroundings 
looked  not  a  day  more  than  five-and-twenty. 

"  Celeste !  " 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse?  " 

Celeste  was  old  and  severe-looking,  and  wore  a  long 
black  dress  fastened  at  the  throat  by  a  very  depressing 
cameo  brooch  representing  a  maiden  weeping  over  an 
urn  under  a  willow. 

"Ou  eat  his  lordship?" 


30  KINGSMEAD 

"  His  lordship  est  a  la  bibliotheque,  my  lady."  A 
polyglot  person,  Celeste. 

Lady  Pontefract  set  down  her  cup  and  crushed  her 
napkin  on  to  the  little  table.  "  Take  the  tray,  please, 
and  then  ask  his  lordship  to  come  to  me." 

She  laid  down  the  letter  she  had  been  reading  and 
took  up  another,  which,  however,  she  at  once  deserted 
for  the  other  one,  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  her  hus- 
band came  in. 

"  Ponty  dear,"  she  began  at  once,  "  do  you  remember 
the  pretty  little  woman  who  lives  at  a  place  called 
Greene,  near  Isherby  ?  " 

Lord  Pontefract  sat  down  on  a  low  chair  and  crossed 
his  legs  comfortably.  He  was  a  rather  fat  man,  much 
older  than  his  wife,  and  had  a  kind,  weak  face. 

"  Greene?  No,  my  dear,  I  don't  think  I  do.  Are  you 
sure  I  ever  saw  her?  " 

She  laughed.  "  No.  I  wondered.  She  is  very  pretty, 
so  as  you  don't  remember  I  dare  say  you  never  did  see 
her.  You  would  not  have  forgotten.  Well,  I  met  her 
at  —  the  Lansings.  It  appears  she  and  her  motor  once 
frightened  poor  old  Mrs.  Lansing's  pony-cart  (the  old 
woman  in  it),  and  that  she  then  insisted  on  taking  the 
old  lady  home  in  her  car,  and  was  altogether  very  kind. 
The  enterprising  Inez  then  called,  of  course,  and  Mrs. 
Gilpin  and  the  Lansings  have  since  then  seen  a  good 
deal  of  each  other.  I  met  Mrs.  Gilpin  there  one  day, 
and  she  is  really  quite  remarkably  pretty,  in  her  way  — 


KINGSMEAD  31 

Irish,  I  should  say.  I  called  one  day,  when  I  had  been 
to  Isherby  and  it  was  beginning  to  rain,  —  besides,  I 
rather  wanted  to  see  her  again,  but  she  was  out,  —  and 
she  called,  and  then  I  asked  her  to  dine  —  that  time  the 
Dunstanburys  were  here,  and  she  could  n't.  Only,  what 
a  long  story !  Well,  I  've  j  ust  had  a  letter  from  her 
asking  us  to  dine.  Shall  we  go?  " 

Pontefract  lit  a  cigarette  without  asking  for  permis- 
sion, which  act,  as  a  sign  of  the  terms  on  which  he  and 
his  wife  lived,  was  illuminating. 

"  Go  ?  Why  not,  if  she 's  amusin'  ?  Can't  hurt 
us,"  he  added,  innocently  and  unconsciously  arrogant. 
"When  is  it  for?" 

"For  Tuesday.  This  is  Thursday,  is  n't  it  ?  Yes, 
Thursday.  The  note  is  rather  nice  —  read  it." 

She  handed  him  the  austere-looking  little  sheet  of 
grey  paper  and  watched  him  as  he  read. 

"DEAR  LADY  PONTEFRACT:  I  wonder  if  you  and  Lord 
Pontefract  will  come  and  dine  with  me  on  Tuesday  at  eight? 
The  Lansings  are  coming  —  the  son,  I  mean,  and  Inez  —  but 
no  one  else,  for  I  know  no  one  else  here.  I  hope  you  can 
come,  for  I  should  like  to  show  you  my  fuchsia,  which  is 
really  rather  lovely  in  its  way,  and  it  would  give  me  great 
pleasure  to  see  you  again. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"NANCY  GILPIN." 

"  Nice  name,  is  n't  it,  '  Nancy  Gilpin  '  ?  "  asked  Lady 
Pontefract,  as  her  husband  laid  the  letter  back  on  the 
bed.  "Well,  shall  we  go?" 


32  KINGSMEAD 

"  Just  as  you  like,  my  dear.  Particularly  if  she  's 
pretty.  What  does  she  mean  about  the  fuchsia?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  It  is  a  very  big  one,  and  she  is  very 
proud  of  it.  She  seems  fond  of  gardening.  She  really 
is  charming  in  her  way.  Then  I  '11  write  and  accept." 

PoHtefract  nodded.     "  Right,  my  dear." 

This  instant  agreeing  of  his  to  any  project  proposed 
to  him  by  his  wife  was  among  his  friends  a  joke  of  long 
standing.  He  was  a  slow-minded,  adoring,  kind  soul, 
and  in  return  for  his  adoration  the  beautiful  Brigit 
Mead  had  given  him,  to  everyone's  more  or  less  openly 
expressed  surprise,  a  gentle,  unwavering  faithfulness, 
of  thought  and  word  apparently  as  well  as  of  deed. 

They  had  been  married  for  nearly  nine  years,  and 
both  of  them  seemed,  in  spite  of  many  prophecies  cast 
for  them  on  the  occasion  of  their  marriage,  quite  as  con- 
tent as  their  neighbours. 

Before  the  marriage  there  had  been  stories,  one  of 
which  was  in  its  main  fact  undeniably  true. 

Brigit  Mead  had  at  one  time  been  engaged  to  the  son 
of  a  world-renowned  violinist,  and  there  were  those  who 
said  that  she  had  loved  not  the  son  but  the  father.  He, 
buoyant,  irrepressible  creature  of  genius,  had,  some  be- 
lieved, loved  her  to  the  very  verge  of  folly,  while  still 
others  insisted  that  all  the  love  had  been  on  her  side. 

These  details  had  never  been  substantiated  one  way 
or  the  other,  but  this  much  was  certain :  the  engagement 
had  been  broken  at  the  time  of  the  violinist's  wife's  sud- 


33 

den  death,  and  for  nearly  a  year  no  one  saw  Lady 
Brigit. 

Then  she  had  suddenly  reappeared,  and  a  month  or 
so  later  was  married  very  quietly,  from  her  mother's 
house,  to  Lord  Pontefract. 

As  has  been  seen,  the  stories  told  about  her  first 
engagement  were  various,  and  absolutely  irreconcilable 
with  each  other,  but  the  plain,  every-day-to-be-observed, 
and  therefore  indisputable  facts  were  that  whomever  she 
might  have  loved,  or  by  whomever  she  might  have  been 
loved  before  her  marriage,  Brigit  Pontefract  had  been, 
in  her  passive,  indifferent  way,  an  irreproachable  wife, 
and  that  Pontefract  was  a  very  contented  and  proud 
husband.  Moreover,  none  could  deny  that  she  had  cured 
him  of  his  one  vice,  and  changed  him  from  a  roystering 
blade  who  would  have  been  greatly  at  home  in  the  society 
of  the  disreputable  first  gentlemen  of  Europe,  into  a 
mildly  bustling  country  gentleman,  a  plucky  rider  to 
hounds,  and  a  conscientious  if  not  brilliant  justice  of 
the  peace. 

That  the  worker  of  these  miracles  herself  wore  a  look 
of  chronic,  mild,  well-bred  boredom  surprised  nobody, 
for  as  a  girl  her  face  had  been  much  less  genial  even 
than  it  was  now.  It  was  at  present  at  least  a  conven- 
tional mask,  whereas  in  the  old  days  it  had  been  a 
frankly  and  bitterly  rebellious  one.  So  much  for  the 
lady  in  the  gilded  bed. 

Pontefract  rose,  kissed  his  wife  gently,  and  returned 
3 


34  KINGSMEAD 

to  the  library.  He  was  gladdish,  as  he  would  have  ex- 
pressed it,  to  be  going  to  meet  a  pretty  woman.  He 
was  of  those  who  cannot  live  in  town,  and  yet  who  con- 
stantly, if  without  venom,  grumble  at  the  dulness  of  the 
country. 

"  I  'm  driving  to  Isherby,"  he  said,  at  the  door.  "  I 
have  to  see  Jenkins.  Will  you  come  with  me?  " 

She  smiled  at  him.  "  No,  dear,  thanks.  I  have  a 
million  letters  to  answer,  and  Mrs.  Probyn  is  coming  to 
lunch.  Shall  you  be  back?  " 

He  did  not  know.  It  depended  on  Jenkins.  He  liked 
to  feel  himself  a  busy  man,  driven  to  death  by  his  stew- 
ard and  his  attorney. 

So  he  nodded  again  and  left  her,  closing  the  door 
very  quietly. 


CHAPTER   VI 

"  THE  Housemaid's  Joy,"  as  the  world-known  adver- 
tisement, written  by  old  Lansing  himself,  calls  the  An- 
alyte  bath-tub,  is  a  very  remarkable  thing. 

Every  housemaid  knows  what  a  nuisance,  what  a 
wearying,  back-ache-y  job  it  is  to  keep  at  the  point  of 
perfection  even  the  best  of  ordinary  enamel  tubs. 

Tiles  are  very  attractive,  but  even  they  have  to  be 
kept  rubbed,  and  then  the  cement  between  them  changes 
colour  and  makes  a  horrid  little  dingy  pattern  amid  the 
glaze.  Whereas  the  Analyte!  That  is  its  beauty.  Im- 
agine a  glorified  tile  —  in  any  colour  you  like,  though 
pink  is  the  favourite  —  made  liquid  and  then  poured  like 
thick  cream  over  the  curved,  unbroken  surfaces  of  a  big, 
convenient  tub.  Then  imagine  that  this  thick,  creamy 
substance,  instead  of  rolling  down,  stops  where  it  is 
poured,  and  sticks  like  a  benevolent  barnacle  to  the 
whole  tub,  drying  without  a  ripple,  without  an  edge, 
and  developing,  as  it  dries,  the  most  marvellous,  glass- 
like  glaze.  Then  realise  that  nothing  can  crack  this  ex- 
traordinary glaze,  nothing  break  it,  and  that  no  degree 
of  heat,  no  degree  of  cold  —  nothing  affects  it  in  the 
least ;  that  you  can  use  it  every  day  for  fifty  years  and 
leave  it,  when  you  exchange  it  for  a  narrower,  drier, 

35 


36  KINGSMEAD 

and  more  sombre  tub,  as  good,  as  glossy  as  the  day  you 
got  it.  Imagine  these  things  and  you  have  the  Analyte. 

The  Housemaid's  Joy  indeed!  The  pretty  young 
woman  in  the  picture  can  smile  no  more  contentedly 
than  could  your  own  Emma  Jane  if  you  had  your  tire- 
some old  tubs  torn  out  and  Lansing's  Analyte  bath-tubs 
put  in  your  house. 

Moreover,  think  of  the  joy  of  having  your  whole 
bathroom  made  of  Analyte,  so  that  it  is  like  a  beautiful 
tinted  shell !  The  young  Countess  of  Lillaston,  so  blond, 
so  rosy,  so  youthful,  has  her  own  bathroom  done  in  the 
coolest  shade  of  green,  the  tub  shaped  like  a  sea-shell, 
the  walls  changing  from  a  real  sea-green  near  the  floor 
to  the  most  delicate  of  pale  Nile-greens  on  the  ceiling. 
Later  the  colour  will  not  be  so  becoming,  but  at  present 
her  ladyship  greatly  enjoys  seeing  her  little  person,  all 
pink  and  white,  surrounded  by  the  cool  sea-colour. 

Then  there  is  pale  blue,  not  bad,  and  even  mauve  is 
pretty.  But  the  shade  which  the  famous  Housemaid  in 
the  picture  is  beaming  over  is  pink;  and  pink  was  the 
room,  pink  the  tub,  in  which,  a  few  minutes  after  her 
husband  had  left  her,  Lady  Pontefract  lay,  only  her 
beautiful  head  visible  in  the  creamy  water  into  which 
the  grim-visaged  Celeste  had  put  some  sweet-smelling 
powder. 

It  was  very  pleasant,  lying  there,  very  restful  and 
luxurious ;  and  the  beautiful  woman  smiled  as  she 
thought  of  old  Analyte  Lansing.  She  liked  the  old 


KINGSMEAD  37 

man,  and  his  unabashed  pride  when  she  told  him  that 
her  house  was  tubbed  throughout  by  his  invention  had 
pleased  her.  It  was  the  first  time,  she  reflected,  that 
she  had  ever  seen  him  unoppressed  by  society,  for  even 
in  his  own  house  he  felt,  she  knew,  as  if  the  waves  of 
that  painful  and  unfamiliar  organisation  were  batter- 
ing at  his  walls.  "  And  the  more  it  does  n't  batter," 
she  smiled  to  herself,  "  the  more  the  poor  old  thing 
fears  it.  That  Inez  is  really  a  terrible  person." 

And  then  came,  in  the  midst  of  her  amused  thoughts, 
a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Celeste?  " 

Another  knock  —  an  excited,  nervous  knock,  that 
somehow  thrilled  her  as  a  voice  might  have  done. 

"  Who  is  there?     Celeste  —  qui  est  la?  " 

And  then,  at  last,  came  the  voice,  a  voice  with  a 
quaver  in  it  that  was  very  nearly  a  break.  "  Bicky  — 
Bick,  dear  old  girl!  " 

The  creamy  water  quivered  for  a  moment,  making 
tiny  waves  that  curved  softly  against  its  rosy  shores, 
and  quick  tears  sprang  to  Lady  Pontefract's  eyes. 
"  Tommy! " 

"  Yes,  Bick,  it 's  m-me." 

"  Oh,  Tommy,  you  —  you  angel !  Oh,  you  lamb  —  I 
can't  wait  to  see  you !  " 

The  creamy  water  was  by  this  time  empty  and  evi- 
dently a  prey  to  a  violent  if  momentary  storm ;  and 
still  another  moment  and  Lady  Pontefract,  in  a  loose 


38  KINGSMEAD 

Turkish-towelling  bath-gown  tied  round  her  waist  by  a 
blue  cord,  stood  looking  down  —  still  down,  mind  you, 
for  Tommy  had  never  grown  as  he  should  have  done  - — 
at  her  brother,  both  her  arms  round  his  neck,  her  face 
wet  with  unexpected  and  even  yet  unconscious  tears. 

"  When  did  you  come,  Pig,  and  why  did  n't  you  let 
me  know?  Oh,  my  Tommykin,  how  lovely  you  look,  and 
how  glad  I  am  to  see  you !  " 

Tommy's  small  face  was  white,  his  mouth  quivering. 

"  Bick  darling  —  oh,  my  blessed  old  girl !  " 

They  had  not  met  for  two  years  —  a  little  matter  of 
seven  hundred  and  thirty  odd  days  —  and  during  that 
time,  eighteen  months  of  which  had  been  passed  by 
Lady  Pontefract  in  the  Orient,  her  little  brother  had 
grown  from  boyhood  to  manhood.  Much  had  happened 
to  them  both,  they  had  each  met  people  and  learned 
many  things,  and  yet,  meeting  again  now,  there  was  no 
break,  no  hiatus ;  they  were,  they  both  felt  with  a  throb 
of  joy,  as  close  to  each  other,  as  understanding  of  each 
other,  as  ever.  And  this  is  what  the  blood  tie,  and  only 
the  blood  tie,  can  do.  Friends  without  it  can,  and  also 
do,  grow  apart ;  friends  with  it,  as  these  two  were,  who 
love  each  other,  meet  with  a  wonderful  and  inexplicable 
shrinking  into  nothing  of  the  yesterdays,  that  allows, 
nay,  forces  them  to  an  instant  resumption  of  the  old 
relationship. 

Friends,  and  brother  and  sister.  Surely  the  most 
beautiful  and  inextinguishable  relationship  in  the  world. 


KINGSMEAD  39 

So  they  cried  a  little,  and  laughed  at  each  other  and 
at  themselves,  and  then  wiped  each  other's  eyes  on 
Tommy's  big  hanky,  and  sat  down  on  the  sofa  to  talk. 

"  And  you  came  yesterday  ?  Straight  from  the 
Castelletto?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  were,"  she  paused  and  took  his  hand  in 
hers,  to  show,  he  knew,  that  she  quite  understood, 
"  there?  I  mean,  at  Kingsmead?  " 

He  nodded.  "  Yes.  You  see,  I  —  I  rather  wanted  to 
go  there.  I  —  I  —  love  it,  Bicky." 

That  was  all,  but  it  was  quite  enough. 

A  few  minutes  later  she  went  back  to  the  subject  by 
saying  suddenly,  as  she  dangled  an  absurd  little  slipper 
on  her  toes,  "  I  like  the  old  man." 

"  So  do  I.     The  old  lady  is  n't  bad,  either." 

"  The  girl  is  horrible,  Tommy." 

"  Pretty  poisonous,"  agreed  Tommy  the  truthful, 
"  but  I  'm  sorry  for  her." 

Brigit  nodded.  "  Yes,  one  would  be,  only  she  —  well, 
I  don't  like  her,  that 's  all.  She,  of  course,  means  to 
marry  you." 

"Oh,  my  lord!" 

"  Exactly ;  she  intends  to  be  '  my  lady.'  But  we  shall 
easily  nip  that  little  ambition  in  the  bud.  Only,  you 
are  young,  Master  T,  and  you  come  from  the  top  of  a 
mountain.  So  look  out !  " 

Tommy  laughed.     It  was  so  good  to  be  sitting  there 


40  KINGSMEAD 

with  old  Bick;  so  good  to  see  her  beautiful  face  that, 
whatever  it  might  have  been  for  others,  had  always  been 
kind  for  him;  so  good  to  be  holding  in  his  the  hand 
that  never  once  since  they  parted  had  failed  to  write 
to  him  every  week;  so  good  to  hear  her  laugh. 

"  And  your  health,  little  brother  mine  —  quite  all 
right?  " 

"  Quite,  dear.  Sunshine  and  sea-air  and  absolute 
idleness  have  cared  me.  But  I  am  a  good-for-nothing 
little  wretch.  It  is  a  habit,  comme  une  autre,  looking 
at  the  sea  and  the  sky,  and  wondering  which  is  the 
bluer!  San  Luca  is  the  dearest  place,  though  you  did 
hate  it." 

"Didn't  hate  it!" 

"Did  too!" 

She  had  unplaited  one  of  her  plaits  and  was  brushing 
her  beautiful  hair  with  the  short,  tangling  strokes  of 
the  maid-accustomed. 

"  I  liked  it  —  if  only  because  you  were  there,"  she 
answered ;  "  but  —  poor  old  Ponty  could  n't  quite  stand 
spaghetti  twice  a  day  and  not  even  the  ghost  of  a  morn- 
ing paper !  Oh,  Tommy,  Japan !  " 

"And  India?" 

"  Yes,  but  Japan  is  better.  India  is  too  Anglicised, 
or  too  savage.  Japan  is  delightful,  because  it  is  so 
very  —  "  she  paused  for  a  word,  and  he  provided  it  for 
her,  with  a  grin  —  "  Japanese?  " 

"  Yes,  idiot,  that 's  exactly  what  I  meant.    It 's  abom- 


KINGSMEAD  41 

inably  damp  there,  but  —  oh,  Tommy,  do  you  think 
you  really  can  stand  November  in  England?  " 

He  rose.  "  Of  course  I  can.  I  really  am  quite  all 
right.  You  see,  it  was  all  because  I  was  growing  so 
fast"  with  a  derisive  glance  at  his  own  small  propor- 
tions. "  If  I  had  n't  been  such  a  beanstalky  great  crea- 
ture they  never  would  have  sent  me  away." 

Nonsense,  most  of  it,  that  they  talked,  but  nonsense 
good  to  hear.  Then  suddenly,  with  the  slight  stammer 
that  meant  shyness,  he  asked  her  a  question :  "  Brigit  — 
you  are  really  happy?  " 

She  hesitated,  quite  frankly,  her  dark  eyes  fixed  on 
his. 

"  I  am  very  content,"  she  answered  after  a  pause. 
"  He  is  very  good,  and  I  —  I  do  my  best.  I  am  nicer 
than  I  used  to  be."  It  was  a  curious  speech,  and  one  that 
would  have  amazed  anyone  who  chanced  to  hear  it,  but 
Tommy  was  not  surprised. 

He  nodded  gravely,  and  went  on  quietly,  "  And  — 
he?  " 

"  He  has  lived  —  there,  you  know." 

"  La-bas?  "  Using  the  phrase  "  down  there  "  as  if 
it  were  the  name  of  a  place. 

"  Yes.  Ever  since  the  second  stroke.  Th6o  told  me 
that  he  is  failing  rapidly  now." 

"  You  have  not  seen  him  again  —  dear  ?  " 

She  went  to  the  fireplace  and  stood  looking  down 
into  the  glowing  ashes,  her  bnth-gown  draping  her  beau- 


42  KINGSMEAD 

tiful  figure  as  if  it  had  been  the  robe  of  some  splendid 
statue. 

"  I  heard  him  play  in  Paris  —  on  our  way  back  from 
India.  He  —  played  well,  Tommy." 

"  I  am  glad." 

"  So  am  I.  Then,  last  June  he  had  the  second  stroke, 
and  —  can  never  play  again.  But  his  mind  is  clear, 
Theo  says.  He  asked  for  you  not  long  ago." 

"And  you?" 

She  shook  her  head  quietly;  the  bitterness  of  the  old 
sorrow  had  gone.  "  No,  he  has  never  mentioned  me. 
Theo  can't  make  out  whether  he  has  forgotten  or " 

"  Or  whether  he  has  n't,  dear?  " 

"  Yes." 

Tommy  went  to  her  and  leaned  his  head  on  her 
shoulder  for  a  second.  "  I  —  am  going  to  see  him 
soon,"  he  said,  as  quietly  as  she  had  spoken.  "  I  loved 
him  too." 

"  And  he  you."    Then  they  talked  of  other  things. 


CHAPTER   VII 

MRS.  LANSING  sat  in  her  great  chair  near  a  window  in 
one  of  the  small  upstairs  rooms,  and  played  patience. 

A  wonderful  invention,  this  of  playing  cards  by  one- 
self. Thus  to  be  guaranteed  a  silent,  pleasant-tempered 
adversary,  one  who  never  rows  one  for  making  mistakes, 
and  whose  own  blunders  one  regards  with  kindly  indul- 
gence, is  a  great  thing. 

And  Hannah  Lansing  was  one  of  those  to  whom  the 
comforting  pastime  has  meant  most,  for  she  was  a  very 
lonely  woman,  nailed  to  her  chair,  as  the  French  ex- 
pressively put  it,  by  her  great  weight,  and  also  for  less 
tangible  but  no  less  disabling  reasons.  She  could  play 
thirty-four  different  games,  one  of  which  required  three 
packs  of  cards,  and  six  of  which  she  had  herself  invented, 
and  long  practice  enabled  her  to  play  with  almost  incred- 
ible rapidity  and  correctness.  She  could  play  while  the 
rest  of  the  family  talked,  or  even  quarrelled  round  her ; 
she  could  play  by  a  light  by  which  no  one  could  possibly 
see  to  read ;  she  could  play,  in  default  of  a  table,  with 
extraordinary  skill  on  her  very  hard  but  usually  silken 
lap ;  on  a  newspaper ;  or  at  a  pinch  she  would  produce 
a  pack  of  cards  no  bigger  than  a  large  man's  thumb-nail 
and  play  quite  happily  on  an  open  six-shilling  novel. 

43 


44.  KINGSMEAD 

And  while  she  played  she  could,  if  she  chose,  carry 
on  a  conversation  with  anyone  on  any  subject,  and  make 
no  mistakes  in  either  her  statements  or  her  cards.  She 
was,  in  spite  of  her  preposterous  bulk,  a  pleasant-looking 
old  woman,  with  a  humorous  red  face  and  twinkling  blue 
eyes.  There  were  lines  in  her  face,  lines  that  told, 
Tommy  Kingsmead  thought,  as  he  sat  that  November 
afternoon  watching  her,  of  sorrow  and  trouble  and  even 
sordid  worries. 

Tommy  had  watched  her  for  a  long  time,  while  her 
chubby  pink  hands  fluttered  over  her  cards  like  unwieldy 
but  intelligent  butterflies,  and  then,  in  the  unbroken 
silence  that  the  old  woman  maintained,  his  thoughts 
drifted  away  from  her  and  he  was  alone. 

He  sat  on  a  stool,  on  the  side  of  the  window  not 
occupied  by  her,  his  thin  arms  clasped  round  his  knees, 
his  chin  on  his  arms.  It  was  a  characteristic  attitude 
and  a  favourite  one  with  him,  and  he  sat  quite  still, 
apparently,  in  the  faint  light,  hardly  even  breathing. 

On  the  rampart  made  by  his  dark  blue  coat-sleeves 
his  white,  narrow  face  was  brought  into  rare  value,  its 
remarkably  clear  pallor  almost  a  luminous  spot  in  the 
dusk. 

Suddenly  he  smiled  to  himself,  a  sudden  smile,  humor- 
ous and  knowing  and  boyish,  all  at  once.  It  was  the 
smile,  in  its  quick  upward  twist,  that  was  the  charm  of 
his  ugly  face;  for  whereas  his  light,  quick  eyes,  clever 
and  clear,  were  a  little  too  shrewd  to  be  quite  comfort- 


KINGSMEAD  45 

able  to  the  person  they  watched,  the  crooked  smile  soft- 
ened and  redeemed  their  gaze  to  one  of  the  kindest, 
though  most  intense,  interest. 

It  was  quite  dusk  now,  in  the  old  room  shadowed  by 
its  plum-coloured  curtains.  In  the  walls,  which,  too, 
were  hung  with  shabby  plum-coloured  satin,  were  set 
narrow,  gilt-framed  mirrors,  blurred  and  bluish  with 
age  and  from  years  of  neglect. 

Tommy  sat  quite  motionless  in  the  room  that  had 
once  been  his  very  own.  In  it  had  first  come  to  him  the 
idea  of  being  a  violinist.  He  remembered  one  night 
when  he  had  sat  up  in  bed  reading,  eagerly,  with  burn- 
ing eyes,  all  that  the  Encyclopedia  Britannica  could  tell 
him  about  Amati  violins. 

He  could  almost  see,  so  well  did  he  recall  the  scene, 
his  sister  coming  in  one  afternoon  at  the  same  period 
and  finding  him  coiled  up  in  one  of  those  uncomfortable 
but  dingily  gorgeous  chairs,  writing  an  advertisement 
for  a  tutor  for  himself.  Absurd  little  boy!  And  dear 
Brigit  had  not  laughed.  Very  gently  she  had  read  the 
words  he  had  written.  She  had  always  been  very  gentle 
with  him. 

"  The  devil !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lansing  suddenly,  add- 
ing, obviously  to  herself :  "  Where  on  earth  is  that  ace 
of  diamonds?  " 

Tommy  smiled  vaguely,  for  only  his  ears  heard  her ; 
his  brain  was  busy,  far  back  in  the  young  years  with 
that  funny  little  Tommy  and  his  beautiful,  kind  sister. 


46  KINGSMEAD 

The  silence  continued. 

To  live  with  people  requires  talent ;  to  live  alone  one 
must  be  an  artist  in  living ;  and  Tommy,  having  for  the 
last  year  lived  literally  almost  quite  alone  in  his  Castel- 
letto  by  the  sea,  silence  was  to  him  a  thing  beautiful  and 
not  to  be  apologised  for,  and  his  calm  possession  of  this 
possibility,  so  unusual  to  people  of  any  age,  and  almost 
unknown  to  young  men,  gave  him  a  certain  quaint 
cachet  of  his  own. 

Thus  they  sat,  in  the  dark,  the  old  woman  and  the 
youth,  together  and  yet  happily  and  cosily  apart. 

At  last,  however,  Mrs.  Lansing's  fat  hands  dropped 
quietly  to  the  table,  for  night  had  come.  All  the  old 
mirrors  had  melted  into  the  surrounding  gloom,  save 
bne,  on  whose  faint  streak  of  light  Tommy's  eyes  were 
fixed,  as  if  it  were  through  it,  as  through  a  magic 
window,  that  they  were  looking  back  beyond  Time. 

He  was  a  little  boy  again,  thin-legged  and  busy- 
minded,  living  in  the  beautiful  old  house  as  its  future 
master,  yet  at  the  same  time  not  quite  at  home  with  his 
mother  and  her  guests.  Something  that  might  be  called 
the  shadow  of  a  frown  crossed  his  brow  as  he  recalled 
that  part  of  his  life,  for  he  had  not  loved  his  mother  as 
a  child,  and  now,  as  a  man,  he  realised  that  she  had 
been  a  bad  woman,  and  this  hurt  him  a  little. 

The  shadow  fled  as  quickly  as  it  had  come,  for  — 
there  had  always  been  Brigit.  Dear  Brigit,  most  beau- 
tiful of  girls,  best  of  sisters. 


KINGSMEAD  47 

Now,  through  his  magic  window,  he  saw  Joyselle 
again  —  Joyselle  whom  he  had  loved,  and  who,  he  knew, 
was  the  only  man  who  had  ever  been  loved  by  Brigit. 
Even  then  the  little  sensitive  boy  had  felt  the  tragedy 
in  the  air;  but  little  boyhood,  however  sensitive,  how- 
ever knowing,  is,  Heaven  be  thanked,  still  an  innocent 
thing,  so  that  his  understanding  had  been  mercifully 
limited. 

Brigit  had  told  him,  one  starry  night  on  the  ram- 
parts of  the  Castelletto,  the  whole  unlovely  truth :  that 
she,  engaged  to  the  son,  had  loved  and  tempted  the 
father,  and  that  only  the  timely  and  happy  death  of 
Theo  Joyselle's  sweet-souled  little  mother  had  saved 
many  people  from  the  catastrophe  of  a  prodigious  and 
ruthless  selfishness. 

"  You  ought  to  know,  dear,"  Lady  Pontefract  had 
whispered,  while  the  soft  sound  of  the  sea,  prowling  on 
the  rocks  below  them,  filled  the  warm  air,  "  I  was  very 
wicked."  And  while  he  was  too  honest-minded  to  attempt 
to  contradict  this  statement,  even  to  himself,  her  con- 
fession had  had  the  effect  of  making  his  love  for  her  a 
little  stronger  than  ever.  It  was  rather  wonderful,  life. 

With  an  unusual  and  rather  beautiful  clearness  of 
vision  the  young  man  realised,  as  his  thoughts  went  on 
in  the  silence,  that  he  himself  now  stood  with  his  face 
set  toward  a  new  phase  of  existence. 

Only  the  other  day  in  Italy  he  had  been  an  almost 
penniless  boy  alone  in  his  ruined  tower,  with  his  books 


48  KINGSMEAD 

and  his  thoughts.  To-day  found  him  here  in  his  own 
country,  a  modest  competence  secured  to  him  by  the 
safe  investment  of  the  money  he  had  received  for  the 
old  house,  a  man  with  the  world  before  him.  Freedom 
had  come  to  him,  and  manhood,  hand  in  hand,  and  he 
must  tighten  the  straps  of  his  armour,  sharpen  his 
sword,  and  set  forth.  Adventure  would  come  to  him, 
he  thought,  with  a  quickening  of  the  blood,  for  the  world 
is  full  of  romance,  and  sorrow,  and  love. 

And  because  he  had  read  much  and  dreamed  much  in 
his  old  tower  the  little  young  man  with  the  quiet  faun- 
like  smile  was,  for  all  his  shrewdness,  very  romantic,  and 
carried  the  thought  of  love  close  to  his  heart,  like  an 
amulet. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

"  Busss  us  and  save  us !  "  Mrs.  Lansing  started  as  the 
footman,  opening  the  door,  flooded  the  room  with  a 
blaze  of  light,  under  which  the  shabby,  shadowy  hang- 
ings seemed  to  shrink.  "  Tea-time !  Now,  'oo  'd  'a' 
thought  it?" 

She  was  an  indisputably  common  old  woman,  one 
whose  presence  behind  the  counter  of  a  country  shop 
would  have  excited  no  comment  whatever.  She  had  some 
h's,  but  used  them  in  such  a  cheerfully  and  incurably 
haphazard  way  that  they  were  of  no  ornament  to  her 
discourse,  and  she  used  certain  very  rough  words  both 
from  long  habit  and  from  a  sense  of  malice,  for  they 
greatly  annoyed  her  children,  and  that  amused  her,  for 
hers  was  a  bold  spirit  not  to  be  quelled  even  by  the  dis- 
approval of  her  beloved  son. 

"  'Oo  'd  'a'  thought  it  was  so  late?  Is  your  master 
in,  'Enry  ?  And  Miss  Inez  ?  " 

'Enry  arrayed  the  tea-things  and  pulled  the  curtains, 
but  he  could  give  no  information  regarding  the  where- 
abouts of  the  family. 

"  Miss  Lansing  said  at  lunch  that  she  was  going  to 
the  vicarage,"  observed  Tommy,  who  had  risen  and  was 
walking  up  and  down  because  one  of  his  feet  was  asleep 
and  his  arms  were  badly  cramped. 
4  49 


50  KINGSMEAD 

"And  Teddy?" 

It  was  rather  remarkable  that  neither  of  this  appar- 
ently ill-assorted  pair  made  the  slightest  reference  to 
their  almost  absolutely  silent  two  hours. 

When  Tommy  sat  down,  he  answered  slowly,  "  Teddy 
is  out.  He  did  n't  say  where  he  was  going." 

The  old  woman  put  her  cards  into  their  little  paper 
cases,  and  thrust  them  into  the  yellow  satin  bag  in 
which  they  lived  out  of  working  hours.  Tommy,  watch- 
ing her,  thought  they  must  be  glad  to  rest. 

"  Shall  I  pour  the  tea,  Mrs.  Lansing?  " 

"Yes,  please,  if  you  don't  mind.  Out,  is  'e?  As  to 
that,  it 's  where  'e  halways  is.  There  's  something,  Lord 
Kingsmead,"  she  went  on,  solemn  but  sudden,  "  on  that 
boy's  mind." 

Always  decisive,  sure  of  her  words  and  quite  unfear- 
ful  of  their  possible  effect,  she  spoke  now  with  a  con- 
viction not  to  be  confronted  by  polite  expression  of 
doubt. 

Kingsmead  gave  her  a  napkin  and  a  cup  of  tea  before 
he  answered.  Then,  beginning  to  cut  a  very  dark  and 
opulent-looking  plum-cake,  he  said  slowly,  "  Do  you 
think  so?" 

"  I  know  so.  And  what 's  more,  —  I  '11  take  the  crusty 
piece,  please,  —  so  do  you." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Duchess  of  Wight  ?  " 
Tommy  retorted  unexpectedly,  the  bit  of  cake  pierced 
with  the  end  of  his  knife  —  "I  mean  the  dowager?  " 


KINGSMEAD  51 

Mrs.  Lansing  stared.  "  Of  course  I  'ave ;  why  ever 
do  you  ask  me  that?  " 

"  Because  you  remind  me  of  her  sometimes,  that 's 
all." 

"  Of  whom  does  the  mater  remind  you,  Lord  Kings- 
mead?  "  Inez  Lansing  came,  in  as  she  spoke,  her  skirt 
muddy,  her  crimson  tam-o'-shanter  dewy  with  rain. 

Tommy  wondered  who  wore  a  crimson  Tammie. 

"  Of  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Wight,"  he  answered 
promptly,  drawing  up  a  chair  for  her. 

The  girl  stared.    "  The  mater !  " 

"  Now  don't  you  look  so  surprised,  my  girl,"  put  in 
the  old  woman,  dipping  a  great  bit  of  cake  into  her  tea ; 
"  it 's  vulgar  to  despise  your  mother."  Her  chuckle  was 
frankly  malicious.  "  Besides,  the  Duchess  of  Wight,  for 
all  'er  being  such  a  swell,  is  only  an  old  woman  after  all, 
is  n't  she,  Tommy?  " 

She  had  never  before  called  him  Tommy,  and  the 
young  man  recognised  in  her  use  of  his  name  a  kind  of 
mental  reaching  out  of  her  hand  for  his. 

"  She  is  an  old  dear"  he  returned  decidedly,  "  and 
you  often  remind  me  of  her.  Cake,  Miss  Lansing?  " 

"Yes,  please.     Been  playing  patience,  mother?  " 

"  Yes.  It 's  a  game  most  people  play,  in  some  way 
or  other,  at  some  time  or  other,  my  dear.  And  where 
'ave  you  been?  " 

Inez  took  off  her  cap  and  smoothed  her  hair  care- 
lessly. 


52  KINGSMEAD 

"  Taking  a  walk.  It 's  pouring  now,  but  when  I  went 
out  it  was  rather  decent.  I  saw  your  sister  in  her 
motor,  by  the  way,"  she  added  to  Tommy.  "  She  did  n't 
see  me." 

And  Tommy  thought  this  likely. 

Old  Lansing  came  in  just  then,  and  seating  himself 
in  a  corner  drank  his  tea  with  an  exaggerated  noise- 
lessness,  that  seemed  to  Tommy,  all  of  whose  feelers 
were  out,  to  tell  a  tale  of  former  boisterous  five-o'clock 
rites  suppressed  by  the  cultivation  of  his  daughter. 

"  Where  's  Teddy  ?  "  he  asked  presently,  munching 
cake. 

"  Out,  'Enry.  'E  's  always  out,  as  I  was  saying  a 
moment  ago  to  —  Tommy." 

The  old  man  started.  "  Now,  'Annah,  you  must  n't 
call  'im  Tommy.  You  really  must  n't,"  he  insisted  nerv- 
ously. "  I  'm  sure  Teddy  would  n't  like  it." 

Tommy  flushed  in  an  agony  of  embarrassment,  but, 
as  so  often  happens,  succour  was  at  hand  from  an  unex- 
pected quarter. 

"  Rubbish,  father,"  said  Inez,  laughing.  "  Mother 
is  an  old  woman  and  he 's  —  Teddy's  college  chum. 
Don't  be  a  silly  old  dear !  " 

"  Quite  right,  Miss  Lansing,  that 's  just  what  he  was 
being!  Now  then,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say  to  me?  " 

Old  Lansing's  blue  eyes  met  his  deprecatingly  but 
delightedly. 

"  Nothing,"  he  answered,  "  not  a  word,  if  that 's  'ow 


KINGSMEAD  53 

you  feel.  My  wife  usually  does  what  she  wants  to, 
anyhow.  I  did  n't  mind  her." 

"  No,  it  was  Teddy  you  were  afraid  of,  'Enry,"  re- 
turned the  old  woman,  laughing  cheerily ;  "  and  as  to 
me,  I  ain't  afraid  of  anybody,  not  even  that  boy. 
But  I  wish  he  'd  come  in  to  tea  like  a  Christian  and 
not  go  ranging  all  over  the  country  in  that  Merseedy 
of  'is." 

"  Jolly  little  car,  just  the  same,  mater."  Inez  took 
a  piece  of  cake  as  she  spoke.  "  More  tea,  father  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  my  dear.  You  young  people  are 
dining  some'eres  to-night,  aren't  you?"  he  added. 

"  Yes,  at  Nancy's." 

"  That 's  good,  Inez ;  you  '11  meet  some  nice  people 
there.  Going  to  wear  a  new  dress?  "  he  added  anxiously. 

"  Yes.  But  there  won't  be  anyone.  She  does  n't  know 
anybody,  either." 

Tommy  stared  at  her.  For  the  first  time  he  saw  her 
as  herself,  for  she  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  her 
model,  that  embarrassing  and  encumbering  ghost,  and 
spoken  out  her  real  thoughts  in  her  real  manner. 

"  Does  n't  know  anybody  ?  "  he  asked,  almost  uncon- 
sciously. 

"  Yes.  Ah,  it 's  vulgar  and  mean,  I  know,"  she  went 
on,  still  alone,  without  her  ghost,  "  but  I  am  bored  to 
death,  and  I  do  want  to  know  people  and  be  amused. 
We  've  been  here  nearly  a  year,  and  Ted  knows  lots  of 
the  people,  but  only  a  few  have  called,  even  of  the  ones 


54  KINGSMEAD 

I  met  at  your  sister's.  Now,  she  is  nice  to  me,  Lord 
Kingsmead,  although  she  does  n't  like  me  either." 

Breaking  off,  as  disregardful  of  her  father's  and 
mother's  presence  as  if  they  had  been  in  China,  she 
stood  looking  defiantly,  angrily,  almost  tragically  at 
the  wretched  Tommy,  who  shrank  from  pain  he  could 
not  help  as  instinctively  as  he  was  drawn  toward  that 
which  he  could  help. 

And  he  could  no  more  have  said  that  Brigit  did  like 
her  than  he  could  have  flown  away  out  of  the  window, 
as  he  would  have  liked  to  do. 

"  She  's  going  to  ask  —  us  —  all  to  dinner  very  soon," 
he  stammered.  "  She  told  me  so.  And  I  '11  tell  her  to 
make  it  a  big  dinner.  A  b-big  dinner  is  so  very  jolly, 
don't  you  think?  At  least,  most  people  think  so." 

But  she  shook  her  head  and  gave  her  right  shoulder 
an  impatient  shrug.  "  Thanks  very  much,  but  it 's  no 
use.  We  had  over  ten  letters  of  introduction,  and  have 
met  several  people,  but  —  they  don't  like  us.  Not  even 
the  Greens  have  asked  us  to  dine.  The  Analyte  offends 
them,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh,  come,  Miss  Lansing !  " 

She  laughed  harshly.  "  What  else  ?  Not  an  aristo- 
cratic aversion  to  —  us.  Old  Green  made  his  fortune 
selling  poisonous  beer  in  the  East  End  of  London,  and 
Herbert  Green  did  n't  even  go  to  the  University.  I  've 
met  him  in  town.  Oh  no,  it's  just  the  joyous  British 
instinct  to  kick  the  man  on  the  rung  below  one,  that 's 


KINGSMEAD  55 

all.  However,  it  is  hard  to  see  much  difference,  socially, 
between  beer  and  enamel,  is  n't  it?  " 

Mrs.  Lansing  shuffled  her  cards  rapidly,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  her  daughter  with  an  expression  of  pity  that 
struck  Tommy  as  she  spoke. 

"  It  is  n't  the  enamel,"  she  said  decidedly ;  "  enamel 
might  do  if  it  was  for  woodwork  or  chairs ;  it 's  the 
bath-tubs.  It 's  the  'Ousemaid's  Joy  that  does  it." 

Old  Lansing  grunted  suddenly  —  the  grunt  of  some 
sleepy  beast  prodded  unexpectedly  in  a  tender  spot. 

"What's  that,  'Annah?  " 

"  Nothing,  old  man.  I  was  just  telling  Inez  that  it 's 
the  bath-tubs  that  these  people  can't  swallow.  It 's 
that  picture  of  the  'Ousemaid's  Joy  that  does  it." 

She  laid  out  her  cards  in  ten  little  piles  as  she  spoke, 
and  began  her  game. 

Lansing  rose,  and  Tommy  saw  that  his  commercial 
pride  was  touched. 

"  It 's  the  'Ousemaid's  Joy  that  did  the  trick,  any'ow, 
'Annah  Lansing,"  he  said  angrily,  his  face  flushed,  his 
eyes  staring ;  "  it 's  the  'Ousemaid's  Joy  that  made  the 
money.  The  enamels  were  all  very  well,  but  what  was 
I  —  yes,  and  what  were  you  ten  years  ago,  before  I 
discovered  Analyte?  Nothing.  Where  did  you  live? 
Bay swater  ?  Where  'd  you  get  your  clothes  ?  Not  at 
that  woman's  who  makes  'em  now,  I  can  tell  you,  miss." 

Turning  to  his  daughter  for  a  moment,  he  hurried  on, 
while  Tommy,  watching  him,  knew  that  this  too  was  a 


56  KINGSMEAD 

revelation  of  character.  The  old  man,  usually  so  timid, 
so  humble,  had  been  hit  in  his  most  sensitive  place,  and 
he  had  reverted  to  the  real,  combative,  noisy  nature 
without  which  he  could  never  have  made  his  great  though 
not  immense  fortune. 

"  You  want  Oxford  for  your  boy  —  to  Oxford  'e 
goes.  And  you,  miss,  you  want  a  year  in  a  Paris  school 
—  to  Paris  you  go.  You  want  a  big  'ouse  —  'ere  it  is. 
You  want  motor-cars  —  three  of  'em  at  your  orders. 
And  'oo  gives  you  these  things?  The  'Ousemaid's  Joy. 
Yes,  the  'Ousemaid's  Joy.  So  remember  that,  please." 

He  left  the  room,  leaving  behind  him  that  most  elo- 
quent tribute  to  eloquence,  a  silence. 

He  had  spoken  well;  his  short,  rough  phrases  had 
made  themselves  felt,  and  Tommy  sat  down  without  a 
word. 

After  a  long  pause,  during  which  Mrs.  Lansing  had 
not  faltered  in  her  game,  she  shook  her  head.  "  You 
ought  to  know  better,  Inez,"  she  observed.  "  'E  's  always 
touchy  about  'is  tubs,  and  you  ought  n't  to  rile  'im. 
Besides,  it 's  all  true,  what  'e  said,  every  word  of  it. 
Only  —  "  her  voice  softened  as  she  swooped  down  on  a 
knave  of  clubs  and  fastened  him  into  the  waiting  fold  — 
"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  my  girl,  and  —  I  wish  things  were 
different." 

Inez  took  up  her  cap  and  the  long  pins  that  had 
fastened  it  to  her  black  hair.  "  I  'm  sorry,  mater,"  she 
said,  in  a  rather  odd  voice,  and  Tommy  saw  with  sur- 


KINGSMEAD  57 

prise  that  she  did  not  remind  her  mother  that  it  was  she 
who  had  suggested  the  infuriating  idea  to  her  husband. 

Then  the  girl,  still,  he  felt  strangely,  alone,  without 
her  ghostly  model,  turned  to  him. 

"  Excuse  me,  Lord  Kingsmead,  will  you  ?  Excuse  us 
all  for  making  a  scene  before  you.  It 's  —  I  suppose 
it 's  because  we  are  —  Analyte  people  —  only  if  we  are, 
our  enamel  ought  n't  to  crack  so  easily !  " 

She  left  the  room  without  awaiting  an  answer,  and 
her  mother,  without  looking  up,  murmured  in  a  pleased 
voice,  "  Queen,  king,  ace " 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE  Kingsmead  motor  arrived  at  Greene  just  as  Ponte- 
fract's  huge  limousine  drew  up  at  the  door,  so  the  two 
parties  went  in  together.  Brigit,  bulky  in  a  long  sable 
coat  —  Pontefract  was  a  very  rich  man,  but  it  was  not 
for  his  money  alone,  any  more  than  it  was  for  love,  that 
she  had  married  him  —  put  her  arms  round  her  brother's 
neck  and  kissed  him  affectionately. 

Then  she  shook  hands  civilly  enough  with  Inez,  and 
turned  to  Teddy.  "  Beautiful  boy,"  she  said,  giving 
him  her  hand,  "  why  do  you  not  come  to  see  me  ?  I 
am  having  a  splendid  white  marble  pedestal  built  for 
you " 

As  she  spoke  the  door  opened,  and  in  the  sudden  out- 
rush  of  light  his  blush  was  plainly  visible. 

"  Oh,  don't,  Lady  Pontefract,"  he  pleaded,  in  a  voice 
of  genuine  distress,  "please  don't.  That 's  just  why  I 
don't  come,  your  ragging  me.  If  you  knew  how  I  hate 
that  name !  " 

And  Tommy  loved  him  for  the  blush  and  the  distress. 
"  She  sha'  n't  tease  you,"  he  said,  as  he  followed  Miss 
Lansing  into  the  house.  "  Bick,  you  are  a  pig." 

The  house  was  small,  it  seemed,  and  only  a  trim  maid 
stood  in  the  little  passage. 

58 


KINGSMEAD  59 

Tommy,  still  glowing  with  admiration  of  his  beauti- 
ful friend's  modesty,  took,  as  usual,  rapid  mental  notes 
of  his  strange  surroundings,  as  he  and  Teddy  stood  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  waiting  for  the  two  women,  who 
had  been  shown  into  a  room  to  the  right  of  the  door. 

An  oldish  house,  he  decided,  wondering  why  Teddy  was 
biting  his  lips  so  nervously,  done  over  by  someone  with 
excellent  good  taste  and  a  first-rate  architect. 

Above  the  dark  panelling  of  the  walls  an  old-fashioned 
but  fresh  green-and-white  striped  paper  was  relieved  by 
half  a  dozen  ancient  and  very  good  hunting  prints  in 
narrow  black  frames.  The  floor,  well  waxed,  was  bare, 
as  were  the  stairs.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  to  the  left, 
just  opposite  where  Teddy  and  Tommy  stood,  a  queer 
circular  room  had  been  added  to  the  original  building, 
and  its  green  walls  were  cheered  by  the  light  of  a  huge 
wood-fire  under  a  very  beautifully  carved  mantelpiece. 
In  this  room  Tommy's  quick  eyes  observed  a  round  table 
on  which  was  spread  an  orderly  array  of  magazines  and 
papers,  several  remarkably  comfortable-looking  green 
leather  chairs,  and  a  curving  line  of  well-filled  bookcases 
under  latticed  windows,  in  which  grew  in  boxes  some 
kind  of  neutral-tinted  flowers. 

A  very  charming  room,  thought  the  young  man,  and 
he  wondered  what  the  flowers  were.  "  Mignonette !  "  he 
exclaimed  suddenly,  and  to  his  amazement  Teddy  turned 
to  him  with  a  quick  frown.  "  Eh?  How  d'  you  know 
that?  "  young  Lansing  asked. 


60  KINGSMEAD 

Tommy  stared.  "  How  do  I  know  what  ?  "  he  re- 
turned, and  Lansing,  for  the  second  time  in  five  minutes, 
blushed. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Tommy,"  he  said  with  his  beau- 
tiful smile,  "  I  am  an  ass.  But  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
old  man,  I  am  —  all  over  the  place,  as  you  may  have 
noticed." 

"  Is  thy  brother  a  fool?  Of  course  I  have.  Equally 
of  course  I  know  why  —  and  all  about  it,"  returned 
Tommy  with  great  gravity ;  "  but  that  is  really  another 
story." 

Teddy  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  arm.  "  Tommy, 
how  could  you  possibly  know?  I  haven't  even  told  her 
yet." 

Tommy  sighed,  with  real  pity.  "  Dear  old  chap,"  he 
said  gently,  "  I  have  seen  it  before,  have  n't  I  ?  And  — 
besides,  I  seem  to  have  a  kind  of  trick  of  knowing  things. 
But  —  it 's  no  good,  Teddy.  She  'd  only  be  furious  if 
she  knew." 

Teddy  started.  "Furious?  Why?  And  besides,  how 
do  you  know?  "  As  he  finished  speaking,  Lady  Ponte- 
fract  and  Inez  joined  them,  and  Pbntefract,  who  had 
been  having  a  heated  altercation  with  his  chauffeur,  came 
in  at  the  same  time.  Tommy  made  his  way  up  the 
gleaming  stairway,  wondering  what  on  earth  was  the 
matter  with  Teddy.  He,  Tommy,  had  of  course  seen 
long  ago  that  Teddy  was  in  love,  and  he  decided  during 
the  short  journey  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  Mrs. 


KINGSMEAD  61 

Gilpin's   drawing-room  that  he  would  speak  to   Bick 
about  it. 

Mrs.  Gilpin's  drawing-room  was  a  long  low  room  with 
latticed  windows  and  a  little  conservatory,  evidently  a 
new  development,  opening  from  the  far  end  of  it. 

The  walls,  creamy  white,  were  adorned  with  several 
fine  etchings,  two  good  water-colours,  an  old-looking 
copy  of  La  Bella  Simonetta,  and  a  portrait  of  a  beauti- 
ful dark-haired  girl  under  a  gaily  coloured  Japanese 
parasol. 

The  furniture,  scant  and  thin-legged,  wore,  it  occurred 
to  Tommy,  well-fitting  tailor  clothes  of  pansy-strewn 
chintz,  and  the  three  tables,  each  shining  with  wax,  but 
undraped,  bore  knickknacks,  all  good,  each  one  chosen 
apparently  by  a  person  hampered  neither  by  thoughts 
of  economy  nor  haste.  It  was  much  emptier  than  most 
English  drawing-rooms,  and  the  individual-looking 
tables  and  chairs  were  pleasant  to  one  who  liked  good 
lines  and  grace  rather  than  drapery. 

A  charming  room,  evidently  expressive  of  its  owner's 
personality,  and  possessed  of  a  marvellous  quality  of 
extreme  cleanness  and  quiet;  even  the  soft  mauve  silk 
curtains  hanging  in  straight  folds  at  the  windows  seemed 
to  add  to  its  tranquil,  shut-in  charm. 

There  were  several  large  bowls  of  mignonette,  and  one 
window  was  wide  open,  so  that  the  air,  pungent  with  the 
scent  of  pine-cones  in  the  fire,  was  delicate  with  its  pure 
fragrance. 


62  KINGSMEAD 

By  the  fire,  a  small,  thin  figure  in  pale  grey,  stood 
Mrs.  Gilpin.  A  little  silver  mirror,  such  as  Italian 
ladies  wore  long  ago  —  one  has  to  think  of  them,  some- 
how, in  Venice  —  hung  from  her  waistband,  and  as  she 
advanced  to  meet  her  guests  its  small  surface  seemed 
to  flash  a  second  welcome  to  them. 

This,  at  least  was  Tommy's  idea  as  he  was  introduced 
to  his  hostess  and  then  stood  watching  her  talk  to  his 
sister.  His  idea,  too,  that  Mrs.  Gilpin  was  like  the 
demure,  sweet  flower  she  so  evidently  loved. 

She  even  wore,  he  saw,  a  little  bunch  of  it  where  at 
the  edge  of  the  exquisite  old  lace  that  edged  her  corsage 
a  small  diamond-and-pearl  brooch  was  fastened. 

The  Mignonette  Lady ! 

It  was  a  charming  name,  and  she  looked  a  charming 
person,  standing  there  by  the  fire. 

She  was  small,  shorter  than  Tommy,  but  so  slight  and 
well  built  that  she  would,  he  knew,  look,  when  alone,  tall. 
Her  bare  arms  were  quite  beautiful  in  their  round  slim- 
ness,  and  her  throat  carried  her  head  in  a  delightful  way. 
Her  eyes  were  dark  blue,  very  dark,  and  remarkable  for 
a  deep  serenity  of  expression.  Her  mouth  was  too  wide, 
but  of  a  fresh  warm  pink  colour  and  cut  in  a  way  that 
made  one's  eyes  turn  reluctantly  even  to  the  smooth 
whiteness  of  her  cheek,  or  the  smooth  darkness  of  her 
hair,  that,  parted  in  the  middle,  was  brushed  back  quite 
simply  into  a  knot  on  her  neck. 

The  Mignonette  Lady ! 


KINGSMEAD  63 

"  I  say,  Teddy,  why  did  n't  you  tell  me?  " 

He  meant,  "  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  that  we  were 
going  to  dine  with  this  dearest  of  dears  ?  " 

But  Teddy  flushed  nervously.  "  Because  —  well,  I  'm 
not  at  all  sure  she  will,  yet,"  he  returned,  "  and  —  I 
can't  talk  about  her,  Tommy,  even  to  you.  But  now 
that  you  've  seen  her " 

And  Tommy  opened  his  eyes  very  wide.  "  Then  — 
it  is  n't  Brigit  ?  "  he  asked. 

"What  isn't  Brigit?"  Teddy's  eyes  were  stupid 
with  the  blankness  of  utter  miscomprehension  as  dinner 
was  announced  at  that  moment,  but  Tommy  understood. 

So  —  it  was  the  Mignonette  Lady ! 


CHAPTER  X 

TOMMY  was  placed  correctly,  on  his  hostess's  right,  and 
opposite  him,  of  course,  sat  his  brother-in-law.  Ponte- 
f ract's  pleased  smile  as  he  sat  down  conveyed  to  his  wife, 
as  he  intended  it  to  convey,  the  fact  that  he  was  glad  he 
had  come.  She  certainly  is,  he  obviously  thought,  quite 
pretty  enough  to  give  one  great  pleasure. 

Tommy,  as  delighted  in  his  way  as  Pontefract,  gave 
a  quick,  half  commiserating,  half  teasing  look  at  Teddy, 
who,  it  was  easy  to  see,  was  not  quite  happy. 

"  Poor  old  Teddy,"  thought  Tommy,  "  what  a  bore 
for  him,  my  having  a  title." 

Now  Tommy  was  one  of  those  rare  beings,  a  sincere, 
quite  non-political  Radical,  and  if  it  had  been  possible 
for  him  to  give  his  empty  little  earldom  to  Teddy,  who 
would  have  prized  and  made  use  of  it,  he  would  have 
gladly  done  so.  But  his  indifference  to  matters  of  the 
kind  having  been  born  with  him,  and  having  grown  with 
his  bone  and  years,  he  never  talked  of  it,  and  even  his 
sister  did  not  know  what  a  thorough-paced  if  passive 
little  socialist  he  was. 

Perhaps  he  did  not  know  himself.  These  things 
happen.  But  in  the  meantime  Nancy  Gilpin  was  near 
to  him,  so  pretty,  so  well  bred,  so  dainty-minded-looking ; 

64 


KINGSMEAD  65 

and  he  was  pleased,  and  having  learned  Teddy's  secret, 
his  incorrigible  interest  in  his  neighbours  and  keen  yet 
so  far  removed  from  any  taint  of  vulgar  curiosity  led 
him  to  study  her. 

And  the  first  remark  he  made  to  her  was,  "  How  very 
romantic !  "  She  looked  at  him,  her  serene  eyes  full  of 
inquiry.  Then,  her  gaze  following  his,  she  smiled,  show- 
ing small,  white,  slightly  crooked  teeth,  and  a  tiny 
dimple  in  her  right  cheek.  "  Ah  yes,  the  glass.  Is  n't 
it?" 

It  lay  on  the  table  between  him  and  her,  a  large  pink 
rose  from  the  vase  in  front  of  her  reflected  in  its  narrow 
oval  surface.  She  took  it  up  and  played  with  it  as 
women  play  with  fans.  "  You  like  it?  " 

He  nodded.     "  It  is  charming.     Tell  me  the  story." 

"Its  story?  How  do  you  know,"  she  asked  slowly, 
her  delicate  ungemmed  fingers  twisting  the  pretty  thing 
thoughtfully,  "  that  it  has  one?  " 

"  Because  everything  has  a  story,  even  modern  things. 
Whereas  your  glass,  as  you  call  it,  is  old.  May  I  look?  " 

She  nodded  again.  She  often  nodded  instead  of  say- 
ing yes,  he  noticed.  Taking  it,  he  looked  at  it  carefully. 

It  was  a  slight  oval  thing,  in  a  narrow  silver  frame 
whereon  sported  a  circle  of  dancing,  laughing  Cupids. 
Their  wee  heads  thrown  back,  their  little  legs  firmly  set, 
the  creatures  were  apparently  playing  a  game  in  which 
the  object  was  to  pull  each  other  down.  An  amazing 
piece  of  work,  Tommy  said;  each  little  figure  was  per- 


66  KINGSMEAD 

feet,  each  face  full  of  expression,  some  of  genuinely 
childish  and  one  of  maliciously  freakish  mischief. 

And  on  the  ground,  trampled  or  about  to  be  trampled 
by  the  dimpled  feet,  lay  roses.  It  was  very  beautiful, 
and  the  relief,  once  bold,  was  worn  to  a  delightful  vague- 
ness, gaining  poetry  and  romance,  as  Tommy  had  sug- 
gested, by  its  loss  of  distinctness. 

"  The  story?  "  he  insisted  gently. 

"  It  was  given  to  me  in  Venice,  years  ago." 

He  flushed.  "  I  did  n't  mean  that.  I  meant  the  story 
that  goes  with  it  —  the  beautiful  lady  prisoned,  or 
stabbed,  giving  it  to  her  lover ;  or  the  signals  it  flashed 
in  the  sun  to  the  cavalier  waiting  in  the  gondola  — 

He  smiled,  full  of  a  joyous  sense  of  the  picturesque. 
But  she  shook  her  head  again.  "  It  is  not  very 
exciting." 

On  the  back  of  the  pretty  toy  a  word  was  roughly 
scratched. 

"What  is  it?    Ve " 

"  Veronica.  Some  day  I  will  tell  you,  but  it  is  a  very 
simple  tale." 

"  Veronica !  I  will  make  a  story  about  it,  then.  No, 
no,  I  don't  write;  I  am  a  good  young  man,  but  I  will 
burst  into  romance  this  once  about  Veronica  and  her 
mirror." 

Mrs.  Gilpin  looked  at  him  for  what  seemed  a  long 
time,  without  speaking,  and  then  with  a  little  blush,  as 
if  she  was  by  a  great  effort  overcoming  her  habitual 


KINGSMEAD  67 

shyness,  said  quietly:  "  Well,  there  is  a  story,  and  if  you 
like  I  will  tell  it  to  you.  But  —  I  can't  tell  it  well." 

"  Yes,  do  let  us  have  it.  It  must,"  Tommy  went  on, 
unconsciously  accepting  her  speech  as  if  it  had  been 
made  for  him  alone,  "  be  very  romantic." 

He  took  the  glass  in  his  hand  and  turned  it  over. 
"  Veronica.  A  beautiful  name.  Was  she  a  Venetian  ?  " 

"  Yes.    The  story  is  this." 

Mrs.  Gilpin  told  it  very  quietly,  with  no  attempt  at 
dramatic  effect,  her  hands  clasped  on  the  edge  of  the 
table,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  flowers  before  her. 

"  There  was  once  upon  a  time,  years  ago,  in  Venice, 
a  young  man,  a  goldsmith's  apprentice.  I  don't  know 
his  name.  And  every  day,  at  noon,  as  he  went  home 
from  his  work  he  used  to  see  high  up  in  a  balcony  in  an 
old  palace  a  beautiful  young  girl.  She  was  always 
sitting  there  behind  a  row  of  flowers  in  pots,  and  she  was 
very  beautiful  —  or,"  she  added  naively,  "  he  thought 
she  was.  And  he  fell  in  love  with  her. 

"  I  forgot  to  say  that  it  was  in  the  summer. 

"  So  he  wrote  her  a  letter,  and  one  day  when  he  saw 
a  basket  let  down  from  the  balcony,  for  the  tradespeople 
to  put  food  and  so  on  into  it,  he  wrote  her  a  letter  and 
told  her  that  —  that  he  loved  her.  But  she  never  an- 
swered, and  she  never  looked  at  him  when  he  stopped  his 
gondola  under  her  window.  And  he  wrote  again  and 
again,  and  got  no  answer." 

Everyone  at  the  table  was  listening  with  the  deepest 


68  KINGSMEAD 

attention  to  the  simple  story,  and  Tommy,  glancing 
from  Mrs.  Gilpin  to  Teddy,  felt  his  heart  stir  in  his 
breast.  They  were  both  so  splendid,  and  love  was  such 
a  marvellous  thing. 

"  At  last,"  Mrs.  Gilpin  continued,  "  he  made  her  this 
mirror  —  made  it  all  himself;  and  learning  that  her 
name  was  Veronica,  sent  it  to  her ;  and  the  next  day  — 
I  hope  it  was  Sunday,  and  sunny  —  he  went  to  see  her 
father.  He  asked  if  he  might  marry  her." 

She  paused,  and  Tommy  realised  how  valuable  as  an 
artistic  asset  absolute  simplicity  can  be  made. 

"Well?"  asked  Lady  Pontefract,  leaning  forward. 

"  No,  he  could  n't  marry  her,  for  she  was  —  blind. 
He  had  sent  a  mirror  to  a  blind  girl." 

"  He  might  have  married  her,"  protested  Teddy, 
flushed  and  eager. 

She  shook  her  head  quite  as  if  she  had  been  the  young 
Venetian's  mother  explaining  the  matter  to  a  sentimental 
outsider.  "  No,  no,  how  could  he?  She  was  blind,  and 
who  would  have  taken  care  of  his  house  ?  " 

Tommy  looked  into  the  mirror.  "  It  is  a  sad  story," 
he  said.  "  Sad  to  think  that  she  never  saw  her  beauti- 
ful face  in  the  glass  he  fashioned  for  her  —  and  she,  I 
suppose,  scratched  her  name  here?  It  is  —  unevenly 
and  roughly  done  —  as  if,  poor  girl,  she  had  done  it 
with  a  pair  of  scissors  or  a  knife." 

"  I  don't  know.  The  story  goes  that  she  never  mar- 
ried, and  that  he  never  did,  either.  And  that  every  day 


KINGSMEAD  69 

of  every  summer  he  used  to  pass  her  house  to  and  from 
his  work,  and  that  she  would  be  there  sitting  in  the  sun 

—  in  her  darkness  —  playing  with  the  glass*  and  that  it 
used  to  flash  down  at  him  —  poor  fellow." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Tommy  seriously,  "  that  it  is  all  true 

—  even  the  sadness.     I  hope  they  really  did  love  each 
other  always  —  and  wish  they  could  have  married." 

"  You  are  a  sentimental  little  miss,  Tommy,"  returned 
Lord  Pontef ract  with  a  sudden  laugh ;  "  quite  time  you 
came  back  to  England  to  live." 

"  Are  n't  English  people  sentimental?  " 

"  Of  course  they  are,  up  to  a  certain  point,  but  not, 
thank  God,  like  your  Italians !  " 

Tommy  smiled  as  those  do  who  know  Italians  as  they 
really  are,  but  he  said  nothing. 

Everyone  was  silent  for  a  moment,  for  the  little  story 
had  made  its  impression  of  white  simplicity,  and  the 
mirror  in  Tommy's  hand  seemed  like  an  eye-witness  of 
the  dead-and-gone  love-tale. 

At  last  someone  began  to  talk,  and  Tommy  laid  down 
the  glass  and  went  on  with  his  dinner. 

"  I  say,  Tommy,  tell  Mrs.  Gilpin  the  poem  you  wrote 
when  you  were  a  kid,"  Teddy  exclaimed  suddenly ;  "  she 
will  enjoy  it." 

"Get  out!" 

"  No,  do  tell  her.  It 's  a  pearl,  Mrs.  Gilpin.  Make 
him  recite  it." 

"  The  one  about  the  toad,  Tommy?  "  asked  Brigit. 


70  KINGSMEAD 

"  No,  no  —  about  the  snow,  I  mean." 

Tommy  laughed.  "  All  right,  you  need  n't  urge  me. 
I  'm  rather  proud  of  my  early  verse.  It  was  full  of 
promise  —  all  strictly  unfulfilled !  Do  you  yourself  want 
this  one,  Mrs.  Gilpin?  " 

"  Oh,  please." 

So  Tommy,  laughing,  but  perfectly  ready  to  be 
laughed  at,  recited  his  verse. 

"The  snow  is  very  white  and  clean, 
And  hardly  anything  else  is  seen ; 
Two  houses  on  the  hill  abide, 
And  all  the  families  are  inside. 

Cosey,  is  n't  it,  '  all  the  families  being  inside  '?  " 

Mrs.  Gilpin  smiled  at  him. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  she  asked.  For  a  moment  he  was 
shocked ;  but  a  sense  of  humour  is  not  an  absolute  neces- 
sity, he  reflected,  and  dear  old  Teddy  had  n't  much 
himself. 

"  Yes,  that  is  all,"  he  answered  her. 

The  dinner  went  on,  a  little  dull  but  very  pleas- 
ant, and  everyone  was  contented.  The  little  hostess, 
quite  unconsciously,  was  a  great  success.  Her  shy- 
ness was  pleasant,  and  in  its  unusualness  rather 
picturesque. 

Tommy,  studying  her  closely,  decided  in  his  own  mind 
that  she  was  probably  always  a  little  shy,  even  when 
alone ;  it  seemed  to  be  a  quality  inherent  in  her,  and  not 
at  all  the  result  of  her  environment. 


KINGSMEAD  71 

And  always  on  the  table  beside  her  lay  the  glass,  a 
little  coil  of  flexible  silver  chain  round  it. 

After  dinner  the  three  men  sat  over  a  remarkably 
good  bottle  of  port  and  a  little  later  went  to  the 
drawing-room. 

It  was,  Tommy  saw  on  opening  the  door,  empty. 
"  Where  are  they,  I  wonder  ?  "  he  asked,  but  as  he  spoke 
something  flashed  into  his  eyes  from  the  conservatory, 
and  he  knew. 

"  '  Veronica's  glass  '  showed  us  the  way,"  he  observed, 
as  he  found  the  three  ladies  sitting  down  in  a  bower  of 
delicate  green  leaves ;  "  it  nearly  blinded  me." 

Mrs.  Gilpin  laughed.  "  But  not  quite.  Sit  down, 
Lord  Pontefract.  I  have  been  showing  Lady  Pontefract 
my  fuchsia.  And  she  likes  it,  do  you  not?  " 

Brigit  smiled  kindly  at  her.  "  I  do  indeed.  It  is 
charming.  Such  a  pretty,  old-fashioned  flower  it  is  too, 
is  n't  it,  Tommy?" 

Tommy,  who  stood  with  his  back  to  them,  looking  at 
the  wide-spread,  flower-strewn  plant  in  question,  nodded. 
"  Early  Victorian.  '  Delicate  female  '  kind  of  flower. 
How  old  is  it,  Mrs.  Gilpin?  " 

"  Only  a  few  years,  but  I  pet  it  and  humour  it." 

She  sat  there  in  her  wicker  chair,  her  hands  clasped 
on  her  little  mirror,  such  a  picture  of  content  and  peace 
that  they  all  smiled  at  her,  and  then  exchanged  glances 
with  each  other  —  glances  that  said,  "  Is  n't  she  a 
dear?" 


72  KINGSMEAD 

The  coffee  was  good,  and  the  liqueurs,  and  the  air  in 
the  little  conservatory  pleasantly  warm,  while  a  suddenly 
risen  wind  howled  without. 

Young  Lansing  sat  with  his  blue  eyes  fixed  on  his 
hostess's  face,  and  once,  looking  up,  she  blushed  vividly. 
Tommy  felt  that  he  had  tumbled  into  a  most  charming 
romance  and  rejoiced  that  silly  old  Teddy  had  at  last 
fallen  in  love  with  a  woman  fit  for  him.  As  to  her  con- 
sidering Teddy  fit  for  her,  that  splendid  youth's  cham- 
pion did  not  pause  to  consider ;  and  indeed  young  Lan- 
sing's looks  were  of  the  compelling  order  that  allow  in 
such  contingencies  but  little  doubt.  What  woman  could 
possibly  resist  him? 

"Won't  you  please  sing?"  he  asked  suddenly  after 
one  of  the  comfortable  pauses  that  Nancy  Gilpin's  tran- 
quil presence  seemed  to  foster. 

Inez  leaned  forward.  "  Ah  yes,  do"  she  added ;  "  sing 
the  Greek  song." 

Before  she  was  answered  Teddy  had  gone  into  the 
drawing-room  and  returned  with  an  ancient  guitar  of 
honey-coloured  wood  on  which  hung  a  festoon  of  faded 
blue  ribbons. 

Mrs.  Gilpin  took  it  doubtfully.  "It  is  very  old- 
fashioned,"  she  said,  faltering  a  little ;  "  shall  I,  Lady 
Pontefract?" 

"  Please"  returned  Brigit  decisively. 

And  then,  in  the  slightly  stirring  shadows  of  the  green 
leaves  under  which  glowed  a  shaded  electric  light,  came 


KINGSMEAD  73 

the  poetic,  sentimental  murmurs  of  a  skilfully  tuned 
guitar,  and  the  soft  throbs  of  a  few  preliminary  strokes 
before  the  singing  began.  She  played  in  the  Spanish 
way,  with  the  back  of  the  hand,  drawing  the  fingers  in 
rapid  succession  over  the  strings,  so  that  the  chords 
came  in  a  sort  of  continuous  arpeggio  like  the  sound 
of  running  water,  except  that  that  is  a  cool  sound, 
whereas  this  was  a  warm,  romantic,  throbbing  sound. 

"  The  Greek  song,  please,"  repeated  Teddy,  and  look- 
ing at  him  she  nodded  again. 

To  Tommy  the  words  were  vaguely  familiar,  but  the 
music,  a  delicious,  simple  melody,  was  strange  to  him. 
And  the  words,  sung  in  a  not  very  strong,  beautifully 
trained  mezzo-soprano  voice,  and  pronounced  with  great 
distinctness,  as  if  to  the  singer  each  one  was  too  precious 
to  be  lost,  were  these : 

"  Oh,  how  I  loved  thee,  Atthis,  long  ago, 
In  that  far,  perished  summer  by  the  sea. 
Did  we  falter  when  love  caught  us  in  a  gust  of  wild  desire  ? 
Did  the  barley  bid  the  wind  wait  in  its  course  ?  " 

Tommy,  his  eyes  fixed  on  Teddy's  face,  heard  and 
felt  the  song  to  the  deepest  roots  of  him.  It  was  won- 
derful, it  was  beautiful,  and  the  whole  thing  was  to  the 
utmost  degree  satisfactory.  Teddy,  even  splendid  old 
Lanner,  could  have  found  no  one  worthier  of  him  than 
this  lovely,  gentle  woman  singing  in  the  shadows  of  the 
leaves.  And  no  song  could  be  more  perfect,  or  more 
perfectly  sung. 


74  KINGSMEAD 

When  it  was  over  no  one  spoke  for  a  moment,  and 
then  Lady  Pontefract  rose. 

"  You  have  nearly  made  me  cry,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
am  going  home.  But  —  you  must  come  to  us  soon, 
must  n't  she,  Ponty?  " 

An  hour  later,  as  they  arrived  at  the  gate  of  Kings- 
mead,  young  Lansing  exclaimed  roughly  to  his  sister, 
"  Oh,  do  be  quiet,  Inez  —  whistle  it  again,  Tommy." 

And  Tommy  whistled  very  softly : 

"  Does  the  barley  bid  the  wind  wait  in  its  course  ?  " 


CHAPTER   XI 

TOMMY  KINGSMEAD  had  a  very  peculiar  and  unusual 
habit,  due,  most  probably,  to  his  long  residence  in  a 
country  where  summer  is  a  flaunting  thing  of  heat  and 
blaze  —  the  habit  of  rising  early. 

And  this  habit,  a  rather  uncomfortable  one  in  Eng- 
land in  November,  when  night  rules  for  many  more 
hours  in  the  twenty-four  than  she  has  any  legal  right, 
is  one  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  shake  off. 

One's  brain,  once  taught  to  stir  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing, is  as  unmanageable  as  a  wakeful  child  and  refuses 
to  remain  inactive  until  eight,  as  leisured  British  brains 
undoubtedly  should  do. 

The  darkness,  the  chill,  possibly  the  very  subconscious 
knowledge  that  everyone  else  in  the  house  would  sleep 
on  for  at  least  another  hour  and  a  half,  had  subdued 
Tommy's  mind  to  the  point  of  leaving  him  snugly  un- 
conscious until  six,  at  which  ungodly  little  hour  he  every 
morning  awoke,  as  if  he  had  been  a  well-made  clock  and 
his  first  restless  stirring  its  chimes. 

Six  o'clock  on  a  dark,  rainy  English  November  morn- 
ing —  a  woful  and  a  chillsome  thing. 

Just  six  hours  after  he  had  dropped  to  sleep  to  dream, 
such  is  the  absurdity  of  dreams  out  of  novels  (in  which 

75 


76  KINGSMEAD 

people  pass  their  sleeping  hours  in  living  the  most  op- 
posite and  poetic  and  relateable  events),  that  he  was 
trying  to  stuff  a  live  owl  with  chestnuts  and  sausages, 
something  happened,  and  —  he  was  awake. 

Now  a  good  way  to  judge  people  would  be,  if 
practicable,  to  read  their  first  thoughts  on  awakening 
—  the  very  first  thoughts  they  have  when  they  are 
still  a  quarter  asleep  and  quite  alone  with  themselves. 
Tommy's  thought  was  enlightening. 

"  Hooray,  tea !  "  And  rubbing  his  eyes  he  sat  up  in 
bed  and  switched  on  the  light. 

It  was  cold,  and  abominably  early,  and  he  could  not 
have  a  fire  for  another  hour  and  a  half,  when  the  earliest 
servant  would  come  and  make  one  for  him  (due,  this,  to 
his  bad  trick  of  having  a  fire  late  every  night,  to  go  to 
sleep  by). 

Yet  he  awoke  with  a  pleasant  grin,  and  a  really  cheer- 
ful thought  in  his  mind,  though  only  a  thought  of 
physical  comfort. 

"Hooray,  tea!" 

Leaning  on  one  elbow  he  lighted  his  etna,  and  then  lay 
back  on  his  pillows  while  the  indignant  water  was  coaxed 
by  the  fire  to  wake  up  and  boil. 

Not  beautiful  in  bed,  Tommy,  as  was  his  sister.  A 
small  white  face  under  a  mat  of  very  untidy  fair  hair, 
thin  wrists  in  loose  pink  sleeves,  a  red  nose,  due  to  a  way 
he  had  of  sleeping  with  that  feature  buried  in  his  pillow. 

"  Raining  again.     Teddy  won't  be  able  to  take  the 


KINGSMEAD  77 

Mignonette  Lady  motoring.  Hard  luck.  —  Oh,  damn, 
can't  you  boil?  "  The  last  phrase,  reprehensible  in  it- 
self, was  uttered  aloud  in  a  perfectly  pleasant  voice  to 
the  kettle. 

Then  his  thoughts  went  back  to  Teddy  and  his  love. 
There  was  in  Tommy  a  decided  streak  of  benevolence 
that  was  to  strangers  hard  to  reconcile  with  his  undeni- 
able and  frankly  active  curiosity.  He  wanted  to  know 
all  about  people,  and  when  possible  he  said  that  he 
wanted  to  know,  and  asked  questions  in  a  very  primitive 
way.  But  the  point  in  which  he  differed  from  most 
other  curious  people  was  that  he  wanted  to  know  about 
people  because  he  loved  them. 

It  is  strange  and  rather  depressing,  the  reflection  that 
by  far  the  greater  amount  of  interest  in  others  displayed 
by  people  is  based  on  a  kind  of  unexpressed  enmity 
toward  their  kind.  "  You  must  have  been  up  to  some- 
thing, or  you  must  have  had  some  underhand  motive  for 
doing  that,"  is  the  thought  behind  most  questions  ;  "  and 
as  I  'm  sure  it  is  something  to  your  discredit,  I  '11  see 
if  I  can't  get  it  out  of  you !  " 

Not  so  Tommy.  He  was  destined  to  become  a  delight- 
ful, whimsical,  benevolent  old  gentleman,  and  allowing 
for  the  difference  in  age  between  him  and  that  future 
Tommy,  and  the  influences  that  the  divers  ghosts  of 
him  must  necessarily  have  on  him,  he  was  now  to  a  great 
extent  what  he  would  be  later. 

He  was  now,  at  twenty-three,  a  delightful,  whimsical, 


78  KINGSMEAD 

and  benevolent  young  gentleman,  inappropriate  as  the 
last  adjective  may  seem  applied  to  a  person  of  three- 
and-twenty. 

And  being,  as  the  benevolent  and  whimsical  often  are, 
a  born  match-maker,  he  looked  forward,  now,  that  raw 
autumn  morning,  with  exquisite  enjoyment  to  watching 
and  aiding  in  many  little  ways  Teddy's  courting. 

He  would  arrange  to  see  a  great  deal  of  Mrs.  Gilpin, 
the  dear;  and  if  he  went  often  to  her  house,  no  one 
would  talk  of  Lansing's  frequent  visits  there;  for 
Tommy  was  not  minded  to  allow  gossip  or  even  kindly 
amusement  to  brush  the  bloom  off  these  golden  hours 
of  Teddy's. 

"  It 's  a  real  romance,"  he  said  aloud,  as  the  kettle's 
sudden  audible  hissing  drew  his  forgetful  hand  to  its 
straw-bound  handle.  "  A  real,  true,  Love's-Young- 
Dream  romance,  the  two  beautiful  creatures,  and  it  is 
a  blessing  I  am  here  to  look  after  them.  They  are  the 
lovers  in  the  garden  and  I  will  be  the  gardener,  keep 
the  flowers  a-bloom,  the  grass  green  —  yes,  and  the  in- 
trusive stranger  off  the  grass !  " 

He  went  on  talking  to  himself  as  he  brewed  his  tea 
and  then  drank  it  to  the  accompaniment  of  several 
biscuits. 

"  If  that  girl  saw  it  she  'd  be  —  knowing,  and  put 
their  backs  up  —  or  she  'd  raise  a  row.  I  suppose  Mrs. 
Gilpin  is  no  one  in  particular,  or  she  'd  tease  him  out- 
right, and  that  would  be  perfectly  horrible.  Oh  no, 


KINGSMEAD  79 

teasing  not  liked  at  all.  Good  old  Teddy,  he  thinks  he 
is  suffering,  I  suppose,  because  he  is  n't  sure  of  her,  but 
—  wuff,  how  hot !  —  I  dare  say,  if  he  only  knew,  it  *s 
really  the  very  best  time  of  all.  Now  this  motor  ride 
will  be  knocked  on  the  head  by  the  rain,  which  is  hard 
luck.  Oh,  if  they  were  only  in  town,  they  could  go 
and  look  at  —  each  other  at  the  National  Gallery.  A 
very  pleasant  place  for  lovers,  I  should  think.  I 
wonder " 

He  wondered  on  and  on,  this  little  unbeautiful  youth, 
his  eyes  bright  with  excitement. 

He  had  observed  the  Mignonette  Lady  very  closely 
all  the  evening  before,  but  her  friendly  aloofness  was 
such  that  even  his  keen  eye  had  failed  to  penetrate  it. 
If  she  loved  Lanner  she  hid  it  very  well ;  if  she  did  not 
love  him  she  most  cleverly  hid  the  pain  his  love  for  her 
must  certainly  cause  her. 

For  she  must  know.  She  was  not  stupid,  and  anyone 
short  of  a  person  fit  for  an  idiot  asylum  must  have  seen 
the  whole  story  in  Teddy's  face  as  she  sang  the  Greek 
song.  Yet  Brigit  and  the  rest  had,  after  all,  appeared 
to  notice  nothing ! 

"  I  'm  like  that  boy  who  could  see  bacilli  and  germs 
and  all  sorts  of  bugs  in  a  glass  of  water,"  Tommy 
thought  with  a  glow  of  vanity,  "  the  boy  with  the  mag- 
nifying eye,  they  called  him.  I  really  do  believe  it  *s 
safe  yet,  the  secret.  What  a  nuisance  that  girl  was  last 
night,  sitting  up  with  us  till  Teddy  could  n't  keep 


80  KINGSMEAD 

awake  another  moment.  He  'd  have  talked  to  me.  I 
wonder " 

Suddenly  he  looked  at  his  watch,  and  finding  to  his 
surprised  satisfaction  that  it  was  past  seven,  he  rose, 
and  putting  on  a  peculiarly  gorgeous  dark  blue  silk 
dressing-gown  (a  present  from  his  sister),  he  turned  off 
his  light  and  left  the  room.  Teddy  surely  would  be 
awake  by  this  time,  and  in  case  Teddy  wanted  to  talk 
he  would  go  to  him. 

For  this  was  not  one  of  the  matters  in  which  Tommy 
felt  more  than  justified  in  giving  vent  to  his  interest 
by  the  putting  of  artless  but  acute  questions.  He  had 
in  these  affairs  a  very  rigid  code  of  etiquette,  and 
Teddy's  came  under  the  unnamed  but  definitely  marked 
class  of  those  in  which  only  spontaneous  offerings  of 
questions  could  be  even  considered. 

Teddy  was  sound  asleep  when  his  visitor  arrived,  but 
a  cold  douche  of  light  waked  him  with  a  start. 

"  Good  gracious,  Tommy,  what 's  the  matter?  " 

Tommy,  wrapped  in  his  princely  garment,  looked  at 
him  for  a  moment  in  silence.  Then  he  said  truthfully, 
"  I  've  been  awake  a  long  time,  old  chap.  Do  you  mind 
my  coming  in  ?  " 

"Not  I.    What  time  is  it?" 

"  Between  seven  and  half-past.  That  is,  it 's  ten  past 
seven.  May  I  light  your  fire?  " 

Teddy  nodded,  and  getting  up,  peered  out  into  the 
cool  black  dawn  from  behind  the  curtains. 


KINGSMEAD  81 

"  Rain ! " 

Tommy,  who  was  kneeling  on  the  hearth-rug,  gave  a 
sudden  nod  to  the  kindling  flames,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  Hear  that  voice  ?  How  's  that  for  disappointment  ?  " 

"  Pouring.     Is  n't  it  a  bore  ?  " 

"  Rotten." 

Teddy,  looking  in  his  white  silk  paj  amas  like  a  statue 
not  quite  unpacked,  yawned  despondently. 

"  Beast  of  a  climate !  What  on  earth  can  we  do 
to-day?" 

Tommy  squatted  by  the  fire  and  visibly  basked. 

"  You  '11  not  get  your  motor  ride." 

"  No.     Oh,  Tommy " 

Tommy's  eyes  met  his,  bright  with  encouragement  and 
sympathy. 

But  Teddy  was  English,  as  much  a  slave  to  habit  as 
his  betters,  and  he  turned  away  a  little  uneasily,  almost 
regretted  his  hasty  confidence  of  the  night  before. 
Tommy  still  sat  by  the  fire,  but  he  no  longer  basked. 

"  Had  your  tea,  old  chap?  "  asked  his  host  briskly. 
"  Just  touch  that  bell,  will  you?  I  want  mine." 

And  thus  Tommy,  bitterly  disappointed,  but  true  to 
his  self-ordained  code,  knew  that  the  one  subject  was 
not  to  be  broached,  and  hastily  asked  some  questions 
about  the  local  hunt.  What  is  more,  he  even  listened  to 
Teddy's  discourse,  and  half  an  hour  later  returned  to 
his  room  as  ignorant  as  he  had  left  it  regarding  the 
garden  in  which  he  was  so  eager  to  work. 


CHAPTER   XII 

"  YES,  it 's  going  to  be  fine,"  remarked  Inez  Lansing 
an  hour  or  so  later,  from  the  sideboard  where  she  was 
foraging  for  herself.  "  You  and  Nanny  are  going  to 
Pinchbroke,  are  n't  you,  Ted?  " 

"  Ugh !  "  grunted  Teddy  in  indifferent  consent,  tak- 
ing more  marmalade. 

His  sister  came  back  to  the  table  and  sat  down 
opposite  Tommy.  "  Will  you  give  me  a  lift?  "  she  con- 
tinued. "  I  want  to  see  Clara  Train,  and  Arkwright 
says  he  can't  take  me  out  to-day  —  something  gone 
wrong  with  the  car." 

She  spoke,  the  horrified  Tommy  saw,  even  in  the  shock 
of  his  horror,  quite  innocently ;  she  had  no  idea  that  her 
proposal  would  be  unwelcome,  although  the  chances  were 
that  she  would  in  any  case  have  made  it. 

Teddy  hesitated  and  in  another  second  would  have 
been  lost. 

Tommy's  quick  brain  understood  that  whereas  he  had 
meant  to  be  a  simplifying  and  cherishing  gardener  in 
the  garden  of  his  friend's  Young  Love,  the  gods  had 
cast  him,  in  their  irony,  a  very  different  role.  If  Inez 
went,  all  the  poetry  would  be  gone  out  of  the  drive.  So 
Inez  must  not  go. 

82 


KINGSMEAD  83 

"Is  it  v-very  necessary,  Miss  Lansing?"  he  asked 
suddenly.  "  I  mean  to  say,  for  you  to  go  to-day  ?  Be- 
cause I  —  if  you  don't  really  mind,  I  —  I  think  I  '11  ask 
Teddy  to  take  me  instead.  It  is  rather  important  for 
me  to  go  to  Pinchbroke  to-day." 

Inez  was  surprised,  for  his  request  was  not  only  a 
strange  one  for  anyone  to  make,  but  a  quite  astounding 
one  coming  from  Kingsmead. 

But,  luckily  for  Tommy,  the  girl's  model  was  an  in- 
souciant person  whose  nature  prompted  her  to  take  care- 
lessly everything  that  came  her  way,  and  never,  on  any 
account,  to  show  amazement.  And  Inez  was,  so  early 
in  the  morning,  carefully  guarded  by  her  idea  of  what 
her  model  would  do. 

So  she  reached  for  salt  and  answered  with  a  quick 
protrusion  of  her  lower  lip :  "  Oh  yes,  by  all  means, 
Lord  Kingsmead.  I  only  thought  of  going  faute  de 
mieux"  Then,  for  she  was  curious,  she  added :  "  Do 
you  know  the  Clarks  ?  " 

Tommy,  without  looking  at  Teddy,  answered  guiltily, 
"  No." 

"The  Markhams?" 

"  No." 

"  The  Carchesters  then?  " 

And  Tommy,  staring  solemnly  at  her  across  the  broad 
white  table,  answered  for  the  third  time,  and  quite  with- 
out any  polite  evasions  or  even  qualifications  of  his 
statement,  "  No." 


84  KINGSMEAD 

"  He  's  going  on  business,  Inez,"  put  in  Teddy,  with 
a  grateful  glance  at  his  champion.  "  Why  are  all  women 
so  curious?  " 

"  It  was  n't  curiosity,  it  was  only  —  well,  absent- 
mindedness,"  she  returned  adroitly. 

"  Like  the  old  woman  who  added  to  her  inquiries  for 
another  old  woman's  health,  '  Not  that  I  care  a  curse,'  r 
laughed  Tommy. 

Then  he  went  on  with  his  breakfast,  a  faint  flush  in 
his  cheeks. 

It  was  late ;  old  Mr.  Lansing  had  long  since  had  his 
breakfast  and  gone,  and  as  the  three  young  people  loit- 
ered over  their  grapes  the  motor  came  to  the  door. 

"  Come  along,  Tommy,  you  don't  want  any  more 
grapes.  We  want  to  lunch  at  Pinchbroke,  you  know. 
I  'm  going  to  take  Mrs.  Gilpin  to  the  Jolly  Trout,  she  's 
never  seen  it.  Will  you  lunch  with  us?  " 

"  I  'm  not  sure  whether  it  will  be  convenient,"  de- 
clared Tommy,  rising  obediently ;  "  I  '11  decide  later,  if 
I  may." 

In  the  hall,  as  they  put  on  their  coats,  he  turned  to 
Teddy.  "  Do  you  realise  that  I  'd  rather  walk  barefoot 
to  Pinchbroke  than  go  in  a  motor?  " 

"  I  do.  You  are  a  brick,  old  chap,"  Teddy  chuckled. 
"  Fancy  Inez  with  us !  It  is  really  awfully  good  of 
you." 

But  he  said  no  more,  and  Tommy,  miserable  little 
human  sacrifice  to  the  god  of  Love,  closed  his  eyes  when 
the  motor  tore  round  corners  amid  a  terrified  scattering 


KINGSMEAD  85 

of  slow-legged  country  children,  and  tried  to  console 
himself  with  the  thought  of  being  so  useful. 

Mrs.  Gilpin  saw  them  from  the  window  and  came  down 
at  once,  a  slim  little  cinnamon-brown  figure  with  a  cap 
tied  in  a  very  ship-shape  manner  under  her  chin  by  a 
gold-brown  chiffon  veil.  It  looked,  this  veil,  casual  and 
unstudied,  as  if  it  had  been  chosen  because  it  was  first 
to  hand ;  but  it  was  remarkably  becoming,  and  her  blue 
eyes  seemed  to  take  from  it  a  quite  special  warmth  and 
glow. 

"  It  is  —  so  delightful  to  be  going,"  she  said,  as  she 
got  in  and  was  followed  by  Teddy,  who  tucked  a  fur 
rug  round  her  in  a  way  that  filled  with  joy  the  heart 
of  the  Sacrifice.  "  Why  did  n't  Inez  come?  " 

"  Kingsmead  had  to  go  to  Pinchbroke  —  on  business 
—  so  we  are  giving  him  a  lift." 

The  mendacious  speaker  laughed  as  he  spoke,  and 
Tommy  in  his  heart  vowed  vengeance.  This,  however, 
he  thought,  as  the  motor  dashed  down  the  little  avenue, 
was  not  the  time  or  the  place  for  vengeance;  Teddy 
was  to  be  made  happy,  and  to  that  end  Tommy  must 
efface  himself. 

So  the  chauffeur,  a  true-born  Frenchman  with  a  broken 
nose,  the  result,  he  always  hastily  explained,  not  of  a 
motor  accident  but  of  a  blow  received  years  ago  in  a 
barrack  row,  was  suddenly  surprised  by  a  remark  in 
a  French  that  caused  him  to  glance  suddenly  at  his 
companion. 

**  Monsieur  n'est  pas  Franfais?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 


86  KINGSMEAD 

Tommy  laughed.  No,  he  was  not  French,  but  he  had 
had  a  French  tutor  for  two  years,  and  —  it  is  a  habit 
like  another,  he  added,  that  of  speaking  a  language  as 
it  is  spoken  by  those  to  whom  it  is  native.  The  chauffeur, 
who  was  a  deep-dyed  anarchist  and  who  had  spent  his 
leisure  time  perusing  hopeful  but  inflammatory  social- 
istic literature  printed  by  subscription  on  the  left  side 
of  the  Seine,  nodded  with  the  simplicity  abrogated  to 
themselves  by  his  kind. 

Chauffeurs  are,  some  think,  the  missing  link  between 
masters  and  servants. 

And  so,  while  the  big  machine  tore  through  the  erst- 
while quiet  countryside,  Teddy  Lansing,  watching  the 
conversation  going  on  in  front  of  him,  felt,  as  he  was 
meant  to  feel,  as  good  as  alone  with  his  beloved. 

Pinchbroke  is  about  twenty  miles  from  Kingsmead, 
and  Tommy  had  never  been  there  before.  Also,  he  had 
never  wished  to  go.  And  he  did  not  know  what  on  earth 
he  would  do  when  he  did  get  there.  For  naturally  he 
did  not  mean  to  lunch  at  the  Jolly  Trout. 

He  intended  to  get  out  of  the  motor  on  approaching 
the  village,  but  beyond  that  he  seemed  unable  to  plan. 
It  was  a  curious  feeling  that  came  over  him.  Useless 
to  plan,  useless  to  even  try  to  think  what  he  would  do. 
He  could  not  even  ask  Teddy  if  there  was  another  inn, 
because  he  knew  that  if  he  did  so  Mrs.  Gilpin  would  in- 
sist on  his  joining  them,  and  he  had  set  his  heart  on 
their  lunching  alone. 


KINGSMEAD  87 

He  hoped  the  Jolly  Trout  would  prove  a  low-browed, 
old-fashioned  inn  with  latticed  windows  and  a  rubicund 
landlord ;  he  hoped  there  would  be  a  small,  glowing  fire 
in  the  dining-room,  and  spotted  china  dogs  on  the 
mantelpiece ;  and  geraniums  in  the  windows ;  and  an 
engraving  of  the  young  Victoria  being  told  of  her  queen- 
ship.  If,  besides  being  a  mere  earthly  guardian  angel, 
he  could  have  reconstructed  the  Jolly  Trout! 

"  There  is  the  church,  Tommy,"  exclaimed  Te'ddy, 
suddenly  leaning  forward  and  laying  his  hand  affec- 
tionately on  his  shoulder.  "  Rather  jolly,  is  n't  it?  " 

A  little  red  church,  with  pointed  roofs  and  pointed 
windows  and  a  square  battlemented  tower. 

Tommy  looked  at  it,  his  eyes  eager.  "  Oh  yes  — 
Norman,  by  Jove,  and  untouched.  I  say,"  to  the  chauf- 
feur, "  let  me  out  here,  will  you  ?  I  think  I  '11  go  and 
have  a  look  at  it,"  he  added  to  Teddy..  "  I  will  j  oin 
you,  if  I  may,  after  lunch." 

Tommy  gave  his  hand  a  quick  squeeze,  and  they  let 
him  go. 

"  How  very  nice  he  is,"  commented  Mrs.  Gilpin, 
watching  the  little  alert  figure  springing  over  the  frozen 
grass  toward  the  churchyard. 

"  He  's  —  one  in  ten  thousand,"  returned  Teddy,  his 
voice  warm  with  affectionate  gratitude.  "  There  's  noth- 
ing I  would  n't  do  for  Kingsmead." 


CHAPTER   XIII 

THE  motor-party  reached  Kingsmead  in  time  for  tea, 
and  went  straight  to  the  Great  Hall,  where  Inez  sat 
reading. 

The  drive  home  had  been  bitterly  cold,  and  Tommy 
was  chilled  to  the  bone  and  went  straight  to  the  fire, 
where  he  stood  holding  purplish  fingers  to  the  blaze. 

"  I  am  so  afraid,"  remarked  Mrs.  Gilpin  gently,  "  that 
Lord  Kingsmead  has  taken  cold." 

It  was  a  tactless  observation,  one  that  most  women 
would  have  hesitated  to  make  about  a  young  man,  but 
her  voice  and  the  kind  look  in  her  eyes  took  from  it 
any  sting  that  he  would  assuredly  have  felt  had  Inez 
been  the  speaker. 

"  No,  no,  I  'm  all  right ;  indeed  I  am,"  he  assured 
her.  "  I  get  blue  and  violet,  but  it  does  n't  matter,  and 
I  —  I  would  n't  have  missed  the  drive  for  anything." 

"  Then  you  have  got  over  your  horror  of  motors  ?  " 
laughed  Inez,  not  quite  pleasantly. 

"  I  certainly  greatly  enjoyed  going  to  Pinchbroke, 
Miss  Lansing." 

"  A  compliment  for  you,  Nanny !  " 

Teddy,  who,  his  curly  hair  ruffled,  his  brown  cheeks 
whipped  to  a  deep  crimson  by  the  wind,  stood  near  Mrs. 

88 


KINGSMEAD  89 

Gilpin,  looking  most  splendid,  Tommy  thought,  shot  a 
quick,  grateful  glance  at  his  friend. 

Something  had  happened,  Tommy  knew  —  had  known 
from  the  minute  he  had  joined  the  other  two  in  the  very 
satisfactory  (though  unlatticed-windowed)  dining-room 
of  the  Jolly  Trout.  There  had  been  at  that  moment 
a  new  light  in  Teddy's  eyes,  a  new  carriage  of  the  head, 
which,  while  not  yet  quite  triumphant,  yet  clearly  in- 
dicated that  triumph  lurked  near  to  him. 

And  Tommy  hoped  that  when  Mrs.  Gilpin  had  been 
driven  home  Teddy  would  at  last  speak.  It  was  unlike 
Teddy,  the  taciturnity  he  had  maintained  on  the  one 
subject  since  his  little  enlightening  outburst  the  even- 
ing of  the  dinner-party,  for  Teddy  was  a  precocious 
youth  and  had  loved  more  than  once  before,  and  Tommy 
had  always  been  his  confidant. 

Yet  somehow  his  very  silence,  his  very  hugging  to 
his  heart  of  his  precious  secret,  was  not  at  all  dis- 
pleasing to  his  friend.  It  showed  that  the  secret  was 
a  sacred  thing,  enshrined  in  his  holy  of  holies,  and 
Tommy  the  romantic  respected  his  attitude,  even  while 
his,  Tommy's,  mental  shoes  were,  so  to  put  it,  already 
unlaced,  ready  to  be  taken  off  for  his  entry  into  the 
holy  place. 

Nancy  Gilpin,  sitting  erect  in  her  high-backed  chair, 
was,  it  seemed  to  the  watcher,  a  little  absent-minded, 
and  the  beautiful  pallor  of  her  curved  cheek  was  perhaps 
somewhat  whiter  than  usual. 


90  KINGSMEAD 

Inez,  the  jarring  note,  struck,  as  is  the  way  with 
jarring  notes,  with  horrid  pertinacity.  She  had  been 
to  the  village  to  do  three  errands  and  had  met  young 
Herbert  Green.  He  had  j  oined  her  and  they  had  talked 
about  the  coming  festive  season. 

"  They  are  having  a  big  house-party,"  the  girl 
went  on  dejectedly.  "  Lord  Ascot 's  coming,  —  the  big 
racing  man,  you  know,  —  and  the  Meyer-Llewellyns, 
and  Lady  Chatterdale,  and  two  guardsmen,  one  of 
them  in  the  Grenadiers,  and  a  lot  more  really  smart 
people." 

"  The  Meyer-Llewellyns  are  awful"  remarked  Teddy 
concisely.  "  He  was  at  the  house  and  is  a  little  beast ; 
she  is  fifteen  years  older  than  he." 

"  That  does  n't  matter.  She  is  the  Marquis  of  Lith- 
gow's  daughter."  Inez  spoke  with  an  unlovely  snap, 
and  Tommy  came  slowly  toward  the  table. 

"When  is  Christmas?"  he  asked.  "This  is  the 
twenty-eighth,  is  n't  it?  I  do  love  Christmas.  When 
I  was  a  youngster,"  he  went  on,  obviously  trying  to 
tide  over  the  unpleasant  moment,  "  we  used  to  have  big 
parties  here." 

"  Jolly !  "  added  Mrs.  Gilpin  gently. 

Teddy,  who  was  eating  jam  with  a  spoon,  looked  up. 
"  Last  year  I  went  to  some  people  near  Sevenoaks  for 
New  Year's  day.  We  had  a  good  time  —  sat  up  all 
night  playing  games  and  so  on,  telling  fortunes,  and 
that  kind  of  thing." 


KINGSMEAD  91 

Inez  rose  with  a  despairing  gesture  curiously  too 
poignant  for  the  occasion.  "  And  here  are  we  with  this 
great  house  and  plenty  of  money,  and  —  it 's  all  no  use. 
Oh,  it  is  too  beastly!  That  Leonora  Green  and  her 
guardsmen,  indeed !  She  is  n't  even  pretty !  " 

She  was  odious  in  her  envy,  and  her  bad  taste  was 
blatant,  but  Tommy  was  sorry  for  her.  In  silence  he 
drank  his  tea,  while  gentle  Nancy  Gilpin  proposed  a 
little  party  for  New  Year's  eve  at  her  house.  "  We 
can  play  games,  and  have  some  music,"  she  suggested, 
half  timidly.  "  Will  you  come?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  we  '11  come  —  and  it 's  awfully  good  of 
you,"  returned  Inez,  now  nearly  crying  with  shame  and 
helpless  anger  with  fate,  "  but " 

Rising,  she  left  the  room  abruptly,  and  Teddy  shook 
his  great  shoulders  with  a  movement  of  relief. 

"  Poor  old  Inez,"  he  said,  "  it 's  a  pity,  is  n't  it?  If 
the  Greens  were  n't  so  successful  it  would  n't  be  so  hard 
for  her.  What  she  does  n't  understand  is  that  every- 
one likes  Nora  Green  personally.  She  's  plain,  but  she  's 
—  well,  a  nice  little  thing  —  though  not  a  bit  clever, 
which  Inez  is,"  he  added  hurriedly. 

"  Indeed  she  is,"  agreed  Mrs.  Gilpin,  looking  at  him 
with  what  Tommy  considered  an  angelic  sympathy  in 
her  large  eyes.  "  Why  don't  you  get  some  of  your 
friends  down  for  Christmas  —  Teddy  ?  " 

Something  in  her  voice  proclaimed  the  fact  that  it 
was  the  first  time  she  had,  after  long  solicitation,  called 


92  KINGSMEAD 

him  by  his  Christian  name.     Mentally  Tommy  hugged 
himself. 

"  No  use,"  Teddy  answered,  flushing.  "  My  friends 
are  all  men  —  the  ones  who  —  would  come.  You  see," 
he  continued,  a  little  shamefacedly,  "  mother  and  father, 
whom  I  dearly  love,  are  not  used  to  —  to  things,  and 

—  well,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  he  ended,  floundering 
helplessly. 

Tommy  eyed  him  with  severity.  "  For  Heaven's  sake, 
Lansing,  don't  be  a  bounder,"  he  burst  out.  "I  —  I 
do  loathe  you  when  you  s-say  —  underbred  things  like 
that!" 

But  Teddy,  though  embarrassed,  stuck  to  his  guns. 
"  Rot !  You  know  I  am  devoted  to  my  people,  and 
proud  of  my  governor  for  having  made  his  own  fortune 

—  and  all  that.     But  not  being  an  utter  idiot  I  can't 
shut  my  eyes  to  facts  as  they  are.     Mrs.  Green  died 
years  ago,  and  Green,  who  is  a  dishonest  scoundrel,  and 
ought  to  be  hanged  for  murder,  considering  the  poison- 
ous stuff  he  sells  as  beer  —  old  Green  is  clever,  and  has 
picked  up  a  very  decent  accent,  and  —  well,  glare  as 
much  as  you  like,  Kingsmead,  those  things  do  count." 

Tommy  was  deeply  disgusted,  and  looked  it,  rumpling 
his  nose  as  if  he  smelled  something  unpleasant. 

"  O  Lord,"  he  said,  half  under  his  breath,  "  O  my 
Lord!" 

Mrs.  Gilpin  rose.  "  I  must  go,"  she  said,  "  it  is  late. 
And  please  don't  quarrel,  you  two !  " 


KINGSMEAD  93 

Teddy  seemed  for  a  moment  about  to  cast  himself  at 
her  feet  in  his  self-abasement.  "  I  was  a  brute  to  dis- 
tress you,  and  —  I  dare  say  I  am  a  snob.  But  —  oh, 
Mrs.  Gilpin,"  he  went  on,  coming  close  to  her,  "  it  really 
is  that  I  know  what  I  'm  talking  about.  When  my  gov- 
ernor used  to  come  to  Oxford,  do  you  think  I  didn't 
know  how  the  fellows  laughed  at  him?  Even  while  they 
liked  him!  He  is  a  brick,  my  governor,  and  the  best 
father  who  ever  lived,  but  whatever  Kingsmead  may  say, 
he  and  my  mother  are  impossible  socially,  and  there  's 
not  a  bit  of  use  in  denying  it." 

Tommy,  confronted  with  a  phase  of  his  friend  that 
he  bitterly  detested,  came  a  step  closer.  "  Look  here, 
L-Lanner,"  he  asked,  his  face  flushed,  his  voice  eager, 
"  do  you  —  w-want  to  bet  ?  " 

"Bet  what?" 

"That  they  are  —  all  that?" 

"  That  you  can't  get  people  —  really  smart  people," 
—  Tommy  winced,  —  "  to  treat  them  as  —  equals  ?  My 
dear  Kingsmead,  I  'd  bet  you  my  head !  It  is  n't  any 
pleasure  to  me,  knowing  this.  If  for  no  other  rea- 
son, I  'd  do  my  best  for  poor  Inez.  I  'm  frightfully 
sorry  for  her,  poor  girl.  But  —  it 's  no  use,  I  tell 
you!" 

Nancy  Gilpin,  who  was  tying  over  her  cap  the  gold- 
brown  veil,  turned  toward  them. 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  to  each  other  like  that,"  she  said, 
"  you  are  so  fond  of  each  other " 


94  KINGSMEAD 

Tommy  laughed,  and  put  his  hand,  which  was  very 
cold  again,  on  his  friend's  arm. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Gilpin,"  he  answered,  "  don't  be  afraid. 
I  love  Teddy.  Only  he  is  disgusting  when  he  gets  snob- 
bish. If  he  only  knew  it,  it  really  is  ill-bred,  and  it  is 
downright  vulgar.  Only,"  he  smiled  up  at  Teddy,  his 
smile  just  a  little  tremulous  this  time,  "it's  —  not 
really  him,  you  see.  It 's  irritation  and  —  a  lot  of 
things  like  that.  Well,  Teddy,  will  you  bet?  " 

"  Bet  what  ?  "  growled  Teddy,  looking  away,  but  not 
withdrawing  his  hand. 

"  That  —  that  your  people  can't  know  and  make 
friends  with  people  every  bit  as  glorious  and  '  aristo- 
cratic,' save  the  mark,  as  the  Greens  ?  " 

Nanny  bestowed  on  him  a  look  so  grateful,  so  under- 
standing, so  perfect  in  every  way,  that  he  blushed  scar- 
let with  happiness. 

"  Old  ass,"  he  said,  laughing,  to  Teddy,  "  you  really 
are  a  sickener  sometimes !  " 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  next  morning  Tommy  went  for  a  walk.  It  was  a 
clear  day  with  a  cheerful  tinge  of  blue  in  the  grey  sky, 
and  a  sprinkle  of  hoar  frost  on  the  road  and  hedges. 

Tommy  strode  along  enjoying  the  feel  of  the  first 
English  winter  he  had  seen  for  years,  and  throwing  out 
his  chest  rather  proudly  as  he  realised  that  although  the 
weather  had  ever  since  his  arrival  been  abominable,  he 
had  not  had  even  the  vestige  of  a  cold.  He  was  used  to 
being  delicate  and  had  never  rebelled  over  his  enforced 
care  of  himself,  but  he  was  young  and  his  energy  had 
not  diminished  as  does  the  energy  of  most  semi-invalidish 
people,  and  this  daring  to  be  in  England  in  winter  filled 
him  with  a  rather  pathetic  pride. 

There  were  so  many  things  he  had  never  forgotten 
and  always  meant  to  do,  such  as  riding,  fencing,  and 
swimming,  and  now  the  chances  of  his  being  at  last  able 
to  do  what  other  young  men  do  seemed  good. 

"  I  '11  go  up  to  town  after  I  've  stayed  with  Bicky, 
and  take  lessons  in  things  and  see  if  I  can't  get  up  a 
bit  of  muscle,"  he  reflected,  positively  enjoying  the 
chill  air.  "  I  've  got  to  do  boy  things  as  well  as  men 
things,  for  I  've  never  done  'em.  It  is  a  fine  thing  to 
be  well." 

95 


96  KINGSMEAD 

He  hurried  on,  thinking  cheerfully  about  this  new  life 
that  lay  before  him;  the  whole  world  seemed  to  await 
him.  Everything  in  the  world  is  his  who  longs  for 
knowledge  and  appreciation  and  not  for  possession.  And 
young  Tommy  knew  this  great  fact  by  instinct.  He 
had  enough  money,  thanks  to  the  sale  of  Kingsmead,  to 
live  comfortably,  to  travel,  and  to  learn  the  world's 
lesson,  and  therefore  be  —  in  his  restored  health  and 
his  hopeful  youth  —  a  rich  man. 

As  he  crossed  the  bridge  near  the  village  he  met  a 
young  man  who  looked  vaguely  familiar  to  him  but 
whom  he  did  not  at  once  place  —  a  sturdy,  broad-faced 
young  man  with  a  small  moustache  and  pleasant  grey 
eyes.  As  they  met  the  young  man  stopped. 

"  I  say,"  he  began,  "  you  don't  remember  me  ?  " 

"  I  know  your  face  —  and  wait  a  moment,  I  seem  to 
see  behind  you  a  fresco  of  —  of  Aurora  in  her  chariot 
—  Italy  somewhere,  of  course." 

"  Right-ho !  Florence  —  the  Hotel  des  Palmiers.  My 
name  is  Green." 

Tommy  held  out  his  hand  and  liked  the  grip  it 
received. 

"  Of  course  I  remember.  We  went  to  Certosa  to- 
gether, and  you  broke  your  majolica  orange  of  char- 
treuse in  the  cab  coming  back  and  ruined  my  tutor's 
top-coat.  How  funny  to  find  you  here !  " 

Young  Green  laughed.  "  Not  so  funny,  considering 
that  I  live  half  a  mile  away  on  the  Hithermere  road. 


KINGSMEAD  97 

I  'd  always  supposed  you  'd  turn  up,  for  I  knew  you 
were  Lady  Pontefract's  brother." 

Tommy  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  and  then  laughed 
merrily.  "  So  you  are  an  enemy !  I  mean  you  are  a 
Capulet.  We  of  Kingsmead  are  Montagues.  Somehow 
I  never  connected  '  the  Greens  '  here  with  my  Florentine 
Green." 

"  The  name  is  not  uncommon.  Rather  funny,  the 
feud,  isn't  it?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  it  is.  Only  I  hate  'em  —  feuds, 
I  mean.  Such  a  waste  of  time.  I  say,  where  are  you 
going?  I'm  walking  over  to  my  sister's;  come  part 
of  the  way  with  me  if  you  've  nothing  better  to  do,  will 
you?" 

Green  assented,  and  they  started  briskly  through  the 
little  village.  Tommy  was  glad  to  see  the  pleasant- 
faced  youth,  whom  he  remembered  quite  distinctly,  and 
apparently  the  pleasant-faced  youth  was  nothing  loath 
to  have  words  with  this  ally  of  the  enemy  of  his  house. 

"  My  sister,"  he  began  presently,  "  wanted  to  call 
when  the  Lansings  first  came,  and  my  father  would  n't 
let  her.  That 's  what  started  it." 

"But  why  wouldn't  your  father  let  her  call?  Mrs. 
Lansing  is  a  dear  old  lady." 

"  Business.  Beer  versus  Bath-tubs.  Not  rivalry,  of 
course,  but  —  well,  Lansing  has  said  very  nasty  things 
about  my  father,  and  my  father  has  n't  spared  him, 
either.  I,"  he  added,  lighting  his  pipe,  "  am  rather 


98  KINGSMEAD 

sorry.  Young  Lansing  looks  a  conceited  brute  rather, 
but  I  'm  told  he  's  not  bad.  I  've  met  Miss  Lansing  in 
London.  Do  you  like  her?  " 

Tommy's  nervous  flush  flashed  over  his  face. 

"  I  arrived  only  a  few  days  ago  and  have  not  seen 
much  of  her.  She  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  though. 
She  has  very  pretty  hair,  too." 

"  Yes,  and  shoulders.  She  dances  rather  well.  How- 
ever, it 's,  as  you  say,  the  Montagues  and  Capulets  over 
again  —  only  the  Montagues  and  Capulets  of  trade. 
Rather  a  pity,  I  always  think,  but  it  can't  be  helped. 
When  we  meet  we  glare.  It 's  a  fine  sight.  Going  to 
be  here  long?  " 

Tommy  told  him  of  his  plan  to  stay  on  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood for  another  month  and  then  go  to  London. 

"  I  want  to  take  some  fencing  lessons  and  so  on,"  he 
added. 

"  Ah  yes,  a  good  thing.  Living  in  Italy  is  no  good 
for  sport,"  assented  Green  with  the  usual  superior  air 
of  young  Britons  in  such  matters.  And  Tommy  thought 
it  hardly  worth  while  to  tell  him  that  the  Italians  are 
the  best  fencers  in  the  world  and  look  down  with  pleas- 
ant tolerance  on  the  English  as  mere  well-meaning 
bunglers  in  the  art. 

Now,  as  he  walked,  Tommy  began  to  feel  guilty.  He 
had  in  his  heart  a  plan  hatched  in  the  night,  and  which 
he  was  going  to  submit  to  his  sister,  and  this  plan  was 
a  blow,  he  suddenly  realised,  at  the  social  supremacy  of 


KINGSMEAD  99 

the  family  of  his  present  companion,  if  not  at  his  com- 
panion himself. 

Was  he  being  quite  honest  in  holding  friendly  con- 
verse with  this  Capulet? 

Would  the  Capulet  not,  later,  have  reason  to  reproach 
him  with  a  kind  of  treason? 

This  thought  made  Tommy  very  uncomfortable,  for, 
young  as  he  was,  he  possessed  the  wisdom  of  knowing 
that  no  one  can,  in  his  position,  remain  neutral.  Even  if 
he  were  not  forging  weapons  to  be  used  in  the  Mon- 
tague cause,  could  he,  a  guest  in  the  Casa  Capulet,  quite 
fairly  listen  to  a  Montague's  view-points? 

"  I  say,  Green,"  he  began  suddenly,  but  young  Green 
had  spoken  at  this  same  moment,  and  did  not  pause. 

"  The  Lansings  don't  seem  to  know  anyone  about 
here,  do  they?  "  he  asked. 

"  They  know  my  sister  and  Mrs.  Gilpin." 

"Mrs.  Gilpin?  Do  they?  I've  seen  her.  Very 
pretty.  But  she  does  n't  know  anybody  either.  Now 
Nora,  my  sister,  is  n't  a  bit  pretty,  and  not  nearly  so 
clever  as  Miss  Lansing,  yet  Nora  is  asked  nearly  every- 
where. Everyone  likes  her,  and  I  hear  that  Miss  Lan- 
sing is  very  unpopular." 

He  was  not  boastful,  he  even  seemed,  to  Tommy's 
sharp  ear,  to  be  speaking  rather  regretfully,  but  Tommy 
was  obliged  to  answer. 

"  I  have  heard  that  your  sister  is  charming,"  he  re- 
turned with  rather  old-fashioned  politeness.  "  Miss 


100  KINGSMEAD 

Lansing  is,  as  you  say,  clever.  As  far  as  her  being  un- 
popular, how  can  a  person  who  is  not  known  be  either 
popular  or  unpopular? ' 

"  That 's  true,  by  Jove !  Well,  as  I  said,  I  'm  sorry 
about  it  all,  for  I  've  danced  with  her,  and  —  I  should 
have  liked  to  see  her  down  here.  But  it  can't  be  helped. 
Father  says  old  Lansing's  English  is  something  fear- 
ful, and  of  course  people  can't  stand  that." 

"  Don't  you  be  so  sure,"  returned  Tommy,  shaking 
his  head.  "  You  never  can  tell !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  —  they  don't  know  anyone  now,  bar  my 
sister,  you  understand  —  but  they  may  shortly  know 
people.  No  earthly  reason  why  they  should  n't.  Mr. 
Lansing's  English  is  bad,  but  his  mind  's  good  and  his 

heart 's  good,  and  his "  He  broke  off  abruptly, 

for  to  the  son  of  the  man  who  made  bad  beer  for  the 
East  End  he  could  hardly  add  "  and  his  commercial 
honour  is  untouched." 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  Duchess  of  Wight  sat  in  a  small  sitting-room 
downstairs,  in  her  house  near  Berkeley  Square,  a  large 
Angora  cat  in  her  lap.  It  was  half-past  two  on  a  rather 
fine  afternoon,  and  in  the  crude  yellow  light  that  came 
in  at  the  two  tall  windows  the  old  lady  looked  very  frail 
indeed. 

She  was  not  reading,  for  an  open  book,  on  which  lay 
her  spectacles,  was  on  a  table  at  hand,  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  portrait  of  a  handsome  old  man  that  hung 
opposite  her.  An  open  fire  brightened  the  room,  which 
in  itself  was  cheerful  and  pretty,  but  the  portrait,  in  a 
curious  way,  seemed  to  dominate  it,  as  if  the  old  man, 
looking  down  as  he  stood  with  his  hands  behind  his  back, 
had  been  a  tutelary  spirit. 

And  this  feeling  was  the  Duchess's  own,  and  accounted 
for  her  having  of  late  lived  in  this  small  room  so  much 
of  her  time,  deserting  for  it  the  big  drawing-room 
upstairs. 

A  pleasant-faced  old  woman,  wrinkled  and  lined,  with 
bright,  tired,  worldly,  kind  eyes.  Her  opinions  were 
definite,  her  tongue  keen-edged,  and  many  people  feared 
her,  which  knowledge  gave  her  an  unholy  j  oy. 

For  over  an  hour  she  sat  by  the  fire  with  her  cat,  for 

101 


102  KINGSMEAD 

she  had  for  a  wonder  lunched  alone,  and  was  now  await- 
ing a  visit  —  a  visit  the  anticipation  of  which  caused  her 
a  pleasant  little  flutter,  even  while  it  had  thrown  her 
thoughts  suddenly  back  into  the  gone  years  and  caused 
her  bright  eyes  to  soften  somewhat  under  their  wrinkled 
lids. 

The  wood  burning  on  her  hearth  was  hissing  now,  in 
a  comfortable  and  cosey  way,  and  the  light  being  bright, 
she  closed  her  eyes. 

Then  —  she  had  slept  an  hour,  and  woke  to  find  a  little 
young  man  standing  before  her,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
a  sympathetic  smile  under  his  baby  moustache. 

"  Bless  me,  Tommy  Kingsmead,  how  did  you  get  in  ?  " 
she  cried,  rising  and  giving  him  her  hand.  "I  —  was 
asleep.  Now  let  me  look  at  you.  Ah,  my  dear,"  she 
added,  her  voice  suddenly  faintly  regretful,  "  you  are  not 
a  bit  like  him !  " 

"  Like  whom  ?  "  asked  Tommy,  drawing  up  a  chair 
and  sitting  down. 

For  answer,  the  old  lady  pointed  to  the  portrait. 
"  My  dear  old  friend  Yeoland." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Tommy,  who  was  too  young  even  to  have 
heard  of  the  once  well-known  friendship. 

The  Duchess  laughed.  "  I  suppose  you  know  that  he 
was  your  grandmother's  half-brother?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,  but " 

"  Well,  and  I  nearly  married  him,  and  —  we  were  the 
best  of  friends  all  his  h'fe,  so  I  hoped  you  might  look 


KINGSMEAD  103 

like  him.  However,  you  don't,  any  more  than  Pam 
Lensky  does,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  Now  tell  me  all 
about  yourself.  Or  no,"  she  added,  warming  with  her 
own  words,  "  let  me  tell  you  what  I  know  about  you. 
Shall  I?  You  are  delicate-looking  still,  but  you  must  be 
sound  or  you  would  n't  be  braving  this  unspeakable 
climate.  You  look  —  nice.  Are  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  returned  Tommy  gravely. 

"  And  good?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.    Go  on." 

But  the  old  lady  clapped  her  hands  in  delight  and 
then  held  them  out.  "  Bless  your  heart,"  she  cried,  with 
the  natural  gaiety  that  was  destined  to  survive  in  her  to 
the  end,  "  that  was  like  him !  Not  the  being  good  — 
Oswald  was  never  t hat  —  but  your  face  when  you  said 
it.  I  am  so  glad  you  've  come,  you  dear  little  creature. 
Now  go  on  and  tell  me  what  it  is  that  you  want." 

Tommy  kissed  her  hand  and  very  simply  told  his  story. 

"  I  have  been  in  Italy  ever  since  I  saw  you,"  he  began, 
folding  his  arms  on  his  breast,  "  living  in  my  tower. 
And  I  am,  as  you  said,  quite  sound  again,  though  I  am 
not,  as  you  see,  a  giant  of  strength.  I  have  —  sold 
Kingsmead." 

"  I  know.  I  was  very  angry,  but  Pam  told  me  about 
the  mortgages,  etc.,  so  I  suppose  you  could  n't  help  it." 

"  No,  it  had  to  go,  the  dear  old  place.  Did  Madame 
Lensky  tell  you  that  I  sold  it  to  the  father  of  my  college 
chum  —  old  Mr.  Lansing,  the  Housemaid's  Joy  man?  " 


104  KINGSMEAD 

"  Yes.  I  'm  going  to  have  Analyte  tubs  put  in  here ; 
I  understand  they  are  quite  excellent.  Well  —  go  on." 

"  They,  the  Lansings,  have  been  living  down  there  for 
a  year  or  so,  and  when  I  decided  to  come  —  home  —  I 
wanted  to  go  there.  So  I  invited  myself,  and  —  they 
were  very  hospitable  and  down  I  went.  I  was  at  Oxford 
—  my  one  poor  wee  term  —  with  the  son,  Teddy,  of 
whom  I  am  very  fond.  He  is,"  he  added  adroitly,  "really 
quite  extraordinarily  good-looking.  There  is  also  —  a 
daughter." 

The  Duchess  glanced  at  him  sharply. 

"  My  dear  Kingsmead,  money  won't  gloss  over  every- 
thing," she  ejaculated. 

"  My  dear  Duchess,  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  you  be 
a  snob !  "  Tommy  was  very  grave  and  he  watched  her 
anxiously. 

"  My  dear  Tommy,  I  want  you  to  marry  money,  but 
there  are  still,  Heaven  be  praised,  some  few  well-born 
young  Englishwomen  who  are  not  paupers.  Is  it  neces- 
sary for  you  to  marry  the  bath-tub  girl  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Duchess,"  declared  Tommy,  the  emphasis 
of  truth  in  his  voice,  "  I  'd  rather  die  than  marry  Miss 
Lansing." 

"Then?" 

He  hesitated,  for  he  could  not  betray  Teddy's  love- 
story  even  to  the  sympathetic  old  friend. 

"  Dear  Duchess  —  I  admit  that  you  are  older  than  I," 
he  began,  at  last. 


KINGSMEAD  105 

"  That  is  generous  of  you !  " 

"  And  of  course  you  are  wiser.  Probably  you  are 
thinking  me  a  silly,  meddling  little  ass.  But  do  you 
think  you  could  believe  that  I  really  have  a  beautiful 
reason  for  what  I  'm  asking  you  to  do  ?  That  it  is  n't 
just  childish  love  of  managing  things?  " 

"  Oh,  you  funny  little  boy !  Yes,  I  think  I  can  admit 
all  that.  Are  you,"  she  added,  smiling  at  him,  "  really 
as  quaint  as  you  seem?  " 

"  I  think  so.  I  mean  to  say  I  think  I  don't  seem  to 
be  things  I  am  not,  and  if  I  look  quaint  to  you,  I  must 
be  quaint.  It  is  a  rather  odious  word,  though." 

He  spoke  regretfully,  with  a  slight  flush,  but  before 
she  could  answer,  hurried  on : 

"  You  know  Brigit.  Well  —  she  is  neither  managing 
nor  quaint,  is  she  ?  " 

"  No,"  returned  the  old  lady,  stroking  her  cat. 

"  Well  —  she  likes  the  Lansings  too,  and  if  you  will 
come  for  Christmas,  so  will  she." 

Now  this  was  Tommy's  trump-card  for  the  Duchess, 
just  as  she  was  his  trump-card  to  others,  and  he  laid 
it  down,  so  to  speak,  with  an  air  of  frank  triumph. 

"  H'm !    Does  she  know  the  beautiful  reason?  " 

"  No.  At  least,  I  have  n't  told  her.  But  she  likes  old 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lansing,  because  they  are  simple,  and 
kind,  and  —  good.  Last  night  I  found  Mrs.  Lansing, 
who  is  very  intrepid  indeed,  as  a  rule,  crying  quite 
piteously  because  some  people  Inez  had  known  in  town, 


106  KINGSMEAD 

when  she  went  to  stay  with  a  school-friend,  had  refused 
to  come  to  visit  Inez.  She,  Inez,  was  awfully  disap- 
pointed and  —  I  imagine,  not  very  kind  to  her  mother 
about  it.  It  —  was  very  sad,  Duchess." 

"  The  girl  must  be  a  beast." 

"  Yes,  rather,  poor  thing.  But  then,  you  see,  she  's 
miserable." 

"  What  happened  to  the  school-friend  who  used  to 
take  her  about  ?  " 

Tommy  laughed  a  little  ruefully,  as  if  he  objected  to 
his  own  mirth.  "  Well,  she  died,  and " 

"  And  Inez,  as  you  call  her,  takes  her  death  as  a  per- 
sonal slight?  I  know  the  type  of  woman." 

He  nodded. 

"  Well  —  in  two  words,  I  want  you  to  be  a  Swell,  and 
come  down  for  Christmas." 

"Be  a  Swell?" 

"  Yes.  Dear  old  Mrs.  Lansing  says  it,  quite  seriously, 
as  if  it  were  a  title.  Will  you?  " 

«  But " 

"  Please,  no  *  buts.'  You  know  you  like  Kingsmead, 
—  I  mean  the  place,  not  me,  —  and  they  have  a  wonder- 
ful chef " 

"  Who,"  asked  the  old  woman,  "  has  been  telling  you 
that  I  am  greedy  ?  " 

"  Brigit,"  he  returned,  unabashed,  "  and  I  do  hope 
you  are,  for  he  is  a  marvellous  cook.  And  then  —  you  '11 
make  them  so  happy." 


KINGSMEAD  107 

He  was  very  persuasive  and  his  great-uncle's  eye,  as 
she  glanced  at  the  portrait,  seemed  to  be  saying  to  her, 
"  Oh  yes,  my  dear  Eliza  —  you  are  bound  to  get  some 
fun  out  of  it." 

"But-    -" 

"  And  —  ah,  do  say  yes,  please  say  yes.  If  you  don't, 
my  whole  scheme  will  go  to  smash,  for  the  Greens, 
'  our '  hated  rivals,  have  a  countess  coming,  and  we 
must  then  wipe  their  eye." 

"The  brewers?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Odious  man !  He  refused  point-blank  to  give  Pam 
a  cheque  for  the  Orthopaedic  Convalescent  Home  for 
Children,  after  she  had  talked  to  him  most  pleasantly  at 
a  dinner  to  which  she  went  on  purpose,  and  then  the 
brute  had  the  cheek  to  tell  her  that  if  I  asked  for  it  I 
should  get  it.  I  did  n't  ask,  either,  and  I  refused  to  meet 
him,  so  I  had  to  give  a  cheque  myself !  " 

Tommy  suppressed  a  smile.  "  Well,  here 's  your 
chance  to  avenge  yourself.  And  then,  poor  Inez " 

"  But,"  protested  the  old  lady,  who  had  very  strong 
dislikes  as  well  as  very  strong  likes,  "  I  did  n't  at  all 
want  to  do  that  hateful  girl  a  good  turn." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  because  then  she  '11  be  nice  to  her  poor 
old  mother.  Ah,  Duchess  dear " 

"  I  ought  to  go  to  Egbert  and  Beryl  for  Christmas." 

"  And  you  know  you  'd  be  bored  to  death  there.  I 
know  all  about  them!  "  returned  Tommy  the  audacious. 


108  KINGSMEAD 

"  Oh,  very  well,  you  little  torment,  I  '11  come.  Poe 
will  be  furious,  but  I  '11  come." 

"Who's  Poe?" 

"  My  maid.  She  has  very  aristocratic  tastes  —  how- 
ever, you  are  a  dear,  and  I  do  enj  oy  you,  so  I  '11  come. 
Whom  else  will  you  get  ?  " 

"  I  know  a  chap  in  the  Scots  Greys  —  fellow  named 
Axendale-Murray,  met  him  in  Rome,  and  I  dare  say 
he  '11  come  —  and  then  we  '11  ask  anyone  you  want,  and 
Bicky  —  Brigit,  I  mean  —  says  she  '11  try  to  get  the 
Pains." 

"  Ah  yes,"  agreed  the  old  lady  alertly,  "  the  Pains  are 
always  delightful.  Jack  is  a  great  friend  of  mine." 

Tommy  kissed  her  hand  and  left  her  sitting  by  the 
fire  more  amused  by  the  prospect  of  the  Christmas  party 
than  she  would  have  believed  possible. 

"  A  delightful  h'ttle  fellow,"  she  declared  aloud, 
looking  at  the  portrait. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

TOMMY,  being  what  he  was,  could  not  fail  to  take  a 
deep  and  living  interest  in  his  launching  of  the  Lan- 
sings on  the  social  sea.  He  loved  doing  things ;  passiv- 
ity was  irksome  to  him,  except  that  kind  of  bodily 
passivity  that  means  the  most  violent  mental  activity; 
and  as  he  left  the  house  in  Berkeley  Square  he  could 
hardly  restrain  himself  from  giving  little  skips  of  joy 
as  he  looked  forward  to  the  immediate  future. 

"  It  is  rather  rum,  my  going  to  work  like  this  to  get 
that  girl  her  heart's  desire,"  he  thought,  turning  up 
Charles  Street,  "  but  it  will  be  so  jolly  to  turn  her  from 
—  from  what  she  now  is,  poor  thing,  to  a  satisfied  and 
therefore  pleasant  person.  Affliction,  even  social  afflic- 
tions, may  be  good  for  very  fine  natures,  but  I  really  do 
believe  Inez  will  be  much  —  much  less  ob j  ectionable 
when  she  has  wiped  the  collective  Green  eye.  And 
then  "  —  he  smiled  so  charmingly  at  this  point  that  an 
alcoholic  flower-girl  forgot  to  urge  on  his  attention  the 
bunch  of  damaged  carnations  she  longed  to  dispose 
of  —  "  and  then,  Teddy  and  the  Mignonette  Lady  will 
make  friends  with  a  lot  of  amusing  people  and  be  invited 
to  stop  —  and  dear  old  Lanner  will  love  courting  under 
the  auspices  of  a  duchess." 

109 


110  KINGSMEAD 

For  adoring  as  the  aesthetic  part  of  him  did  Teddy, 
Tommy  was  by  no  means  blind  to  the  defects  in  his 
friend's  character,  and  this  snobbishness,  not  sufficiently 
violent  to  be  offensive,  he  firmly  believed  would  pass. 

Quite  unconsciously,  without  pose  of  any  kind,  he 
looked  on  Lansing  in  an  almost  fatherly  way,  viewing 
the  beautiful  youth's  little  weakness  with  tender  regret 
that  only  once  in  a  long  while  waxed  impatient. 

And  now  that  the  Duchess  had  entered  with  him  into 
conspiracy,  he  felt  that,  all  occasion  being  gone  for 
snobbishness,  Teddy  would  never  again  be  a  snob.  For 
surely  if  the  Duchess  and  the  other  people  whom  he  had 
in  his  mind's  eye  came  to  Kingsmead  and  were  friendly 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lansing,  Teddy  and  even  the  objec- 
tionable Inez  must  see  how  worse  than  silly  they  were 
to  be  ashamed  of  their  parents.  At  this  point,  just  as 
he  hailed  a  hansom  in  Piccadilly,  Tommy  winced.  He, 
also,  knew  what  it  was  to  be  reasonably  and  hopelessly 
ashamed  of  a  parent. 

His  next  call  was  made  in  Westminster  —  at  a  small, 
dingy  brick  house  in  a  deserted  square  near  Great 
Peter  Street. 

The  maid  who  admitted  him  left  him  in  the  square 
hall,  where  burned  a  cheery  fire,  and  retired  to  announce 
him  to  her  mistress.  Tommy,  taking  off  his  coat, 
prowled  up  and  down,  pausing  by  the  fireplace  to  look 
at  the  portrait  above  it,  —  a  gypsy-like  girl's  face  smil- 
ing down  at  him,  —  stopping  to  examine  a  carved 


KINGSMEAD  111 

Corean  chest  in  one  of  the  window-niches.  This  atten- 
tion to  detail  was  deep-rooted  in  him,  and  long  custom 
had  brought  it  to  a  kind  of  art  of  observation.  After 
five  minutes  in  the  hall  in  Westminster  the  young  man 
could  have  given,  had  he  been  asked  to  do  so,  a  descrip- 
tion of  it  worthy  of  Sherlock  Holmes. 

He  was  standing  once  more  by  the  fire  when  a  step 
on  the  dark,  narrow  stairs  caused  him  to  turn. 

"  Mother  sent  me "  began  the  girl,  when  he  in- 
terrupted her. 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  he  cried  in  an  absurdly  grand- 
fatherly  manner,  "  you  can't  be  Pammy !  " 

The  girl  laughed.  "  Why  not,  Tommy  Kingsmead? 
Well,  I  am  Pammy,  thanks.  And  mother  will  be  down 
in  a  minute.  Roddy  got  home  yesterday  for  the  holi- 
days, and  has  celebrated  by  cutting  one  of  his  thumbs 
off,  or  nearly,  with  his  jig-saw.  How  are  you?  " 

Tommy  was  well;  he  trusted  the  thumb  in  question 
was  not  entirely  dismembered,  and  he  had  forgotten 
that  Pammy  must  of  course  be  arrived  at  her  present 
mature  age. 

'  Yes,  I  am  nearly  seventeen.  When  I  'm  twenty  I 
sha*  n't  be  so  fat,  but  at  present  there  seems  to  be  no 
help  for  it,"  she  answered,  laughing,  and  displaying 
in  her  own  round,  overred  cheeks  two  very  becoming 
dimples,  "  because  I  am  so  horribly  greedy  always.  It 
is  awful  to  have  a  big  appetite  —  so  vulgar,  don't  you 
think?  "  she  added  pensively. 


KINGSMEAD 

Tommy  laughed.  "  No,  it 's  glorious.  But,  my  word, 
you  are  a  big  girl!  How  tall?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Oh,  don't !  I  'd  rather 
die  than  tell;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  am  five  feet 
eleven ;  is  n't  it  terrific  ?  Father  says  he  's  going  to  buy 
me  a  commission  in  the  Grenadier  Guards."  She  was, 
as  she  said,  very  tall,  and  her  erect,  well-developed 
figure  was  much  too  broad  for  her  height,  so  that  she 
had,  standing  by  Tommy,  something  the  air  of  an  ocean- 
liner  anchored  near  a  sailing  yacht. 

Her  chestnut  hair,  silky  and  bright,  was  bundled  into 
a  net  at  the  back  of  her  head,  and  her  grey-blue  eyes, 
edged  with  long  but  blond  lashes,  looked  sleepily  out 
from  under  heavy  white  lids.  She  wore  a  well-cut  blue 
coat  and  skirt  and  a  white  silk  shirt  with  a  rather  low 
collar  that  looked  almost  yellow  against  the  dazzling 
fairness  of  her  neck. 

Tommy  eyed  her  interestedly.  "  You  —  it  is  funny 
seeing  you  like  this,"  he  began  abruptly ;  "  you  see,  I 
had  forgotten  all  about  you." 

"  Had  you  ?  "  Her  surprise  was  genuine.  "  Well, 
I  'm  Pammy.  And  my  real  name  is  Wantage,  and 
mother  adopted  me  before  she  married  father.  It 's  all 
very  romantic,  only  it 's  a  pity  I  am  so  fat.  Ah,  here 
she  is ! " 

Madame  de  Lensky  came  downstairs  as  lightly  as  if 
she  had  been  twenty ;  she  was  one  of  the  thin,  narrow- 
footed  women  whose  figures  never  grow  old. 


KINGSMEAD  113 

Tommy  had  last  seen  her  nearly  ten  years  ago,  and 
her  grey  hair  shocked  him,  although  the  youth  of  her 
expression  and  the  charm  of  her  smile  comforted  him 
somewhat.  His  habit  being  to  feel  himself  the  contem- 
porary of  those  with  whom  he  was  thrown,  he  had  really 
never  before  quite  realised  that  this  friend  of  his  sister 
was  ten  years  older  than  Brigit ;  but  a  moment  after 
her  coming  into  the  room  he  had  lost  the  first  impres- 
sion made  by  her  hair,  and  found  himself  talking  to  her 
as  to  one  of  his  own  age.  That  Pammy's  grown-upness 
had  surprised  him  he  told  Pammy's  adopted  mother,  who 
laughed  and  smiled  up  at  the  great  girl  standing  beside 
her. 

"  Yes,  is  n't  she  a  monster  ?  We  call  her  Germania. 
Brigit  says  she  is  going  to  be  good-looking.  We  hope 
so,  don't  we,  Pammy  ?  " 

Pammy  laughed,  showing  a  vast  number  of  very  white 
teeth.  "  We  do,  mother  dear.  But  as  long  as  my 
appetite  continues  what  it  is  now,  we  hope  in  vain. 
Shall  I  go?" 

Pam  hesitated.     "  Shall  she,  Tommy?  " 

But  Tommy  had  now,  in  his  thoughts,  gone  back  to 
Pammy's  age,  and  even  while  he  was,  in  relation  to 
Pam,  practically  six-and-forty,  he  wanted  his  other  con- 
temporary to  stay. 

"  No,  no,  don't  go.    Let  her  stay,  Madame  de  Lensky. 
You  see,  it 's  a  plot,  and  the  Duchess  wants  you  to  help 
us;   will  you?  " 
8 


114  KINGSMEAD 

"  Oh  dear,  yes,"  assented  Pam  briskly,  "  I  lore  a  plot. 
What  is  it?  " 

And  Tommy  explained  in  fewer  and  less  alluring 
words  than  he  had  used  to  the  Duchess,  for  Madame  de 
Lensky,  he  realised,  approached  the  subject  already 
sufficiently  prejudiced  in  its  favour  by  the  mere  fact 
of  the  Duchess's  adherence. 

Pam  listened  with  the  deepest  interest,  her  thin,  dark 
face  touched  from  time  to  time  by  a  quick  smile,  and 
her  eyebrows  expressing  sympathy  and  understanding 
in  a  rather  un-English  way. 

Pammy,  on  the  contrary,  large  peach-coloured 
Pammy's  face  was  impassive,  almost  stolid,  as  she  list- 
ened, and  her  eyebrows  were,  so  to  say,  quite  silent. 

Tommy,  fresh  from  Italy,  where  more  than  half  of 
every  conversation  is  carried  on  without  words,  was 
more  comfortable  in  his  role  of  raconteur  with  the  elder 
woman. 

"  And  so  you  see,"  he  wound  up  after  five  minutes' 
hard  talking,  "  the  Duchess  is  coming  down  to  stop,  and 
we  want  you  to  come  too." 

"  But  I  can't,  my  dear  infant !  What  do  you  think 
would  become  of  my  husband  and  my  children  if  I  de- 
serted them  and  went  skylarking  at  Christmas?  " 

"  They,"  returned  Tommy  imperturbably,  "  are  to 
come  too.  There  is  plenty  of  room  at  Kingsmead.  Oh 
3res,  you  certainly  must  come.  The  Duchess  is  com- 
ing to  see  you  this  afternoon.  She  says  you  will  do 


KINGSMEAD  115 

whatever  she  asks  you,  because  she  is  a  lonely  old 
woman." 

"  She  is  a  wicked  old  fraud.  However,  Pammy,  a 
few  days  in  the  country  might  do  Lieschen  good." 

Pammy  frankly  grinned. 

"  Oh,  mother  dearest,  do  let 's  go !  It  all  sounds  such 
fun,  and  we  have  been  in  town  so  long,  and  father  won't 
mind." 

"  It  is  a  rather  large  order,  Tommy,"  mused  Madame 
de  Lensky,  drawing  her  brows  together  thoughtfully. 
"  '  We  are  seven ! '  For  my  old  nurse  has  come  for 
Christmas,  and  I  could  n't  desert  her,  and  then  Eliza's 
nurse  would  have  to  come " 

Tommy  rose. 

"  I,"  he  said,  with  much  grandiloquence,  "  am  a  min- 
ister plenipotentiary ;  full  power  have  I  to  house  for 
this  week,  in  the  home  of  my  ancestors,  unto  seventy 
times  seven!  So  you  must  come,  and  you  will  like  the 
old  Lansings,  and  you  will  show  the  young  Lansings 
that  h's  and  accents  are  not  everything,  and  that  the 
lack  of  early  education  is  not  necessarily  an  insurmount- 
able barrier  between  people  and  the  elect  of  their  kind." 

"  We  are  not  at  all  grand  people,  though,"  put  in 
Pammy  at  this  point,  "  are  we,  mother  ?  " 

Pam  laughed.  "  We  reflect,  to  the  gaze  of  some  hu- 
man beings,  much  glory  from  the  Duchess,  dear,"  she 
returned. 

Then  she  shook  Tommy  warmly  by  both  hands,  prom- 


116  KINGSMEAD 

ised  to  arrive  with  the  members  of  her  tribe  on  Christ- 
mas eye,  and  sent  her  love  to  Brigit,  whom  she  had,  she 
said,  not  seen  for  ages. 

Pamray  went  to  the  door  with  Tommy  and  gave  him 
her  large,  smooth  hand. 

"  I  'm  jolly  glad  we  're  coming,"  she  said.  "  I  hope 
we  are  to  dance?  " 

Tommy  smiled  up  at  her.     "  Rath-er !  "  he  answered. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MRS.  LANSING,  very  red  in  the  face,  sat  before  her  glass 
while  her  maid  dressed  her  hair. 

The  great  moment  was  over ;  the  Duchess  had  come, 
had  drunk  tea  and  eaten  a  vast  amount  of  bread  and 
butter,  and,  apparently,  had  not  so  much  as  noticed  her 
hostess's  slip  in  twice  calling  her  "  your  grace." 

"  The  Duchess  wears  diamond  earrings,  Horton," 
commented  Mrs.  Lansing,  "  so  I  don't  see  why  I  can't 
wear  mine." 

"  No,  madame." 

The  words  were  all  that  could  be  desired,  but  Horton 
was  haughty  and  her  mistress  knew  it.  Horton  had 
lived  for  several  years  with  a  Somersetshire  lady  whose 
own  sister-in-law  was  a  countess,  but  even  Horton  had 
never  before  lived  in  a  house  where  duchesses  came  to 
stop,  and  her  superiority  among  the  other  servants  was, 
the  proud  handmaiden  knew,  shaken  by  the  appearance 
of  her  fat  Grace  of  Wight.  No  longer  could  she,  Hor- 
ton, Spater  the  housekeeper's  room  with  tales  of  the 
"  Countess  of  Cumberland,  my  lady's  own  sister-in-law 
and  very  dearest  friend." 

And  a  drop  from  heights  of  superiority  is  always  dis- 
pleasing, as  nearly  everyone  knows. 

117 


118  KINGSMEAD 

So  Horton  maintained  an  injured  silence  as  she  rolled 
her  plebeian  mistress's  scant  hair  into  a  number  of  little 
hollow  sausages  and  impaled  them  savagely  on  small 
hairpins. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Cockran  to-morrow  morning, 
Horton." 

"  Very  good,  madame." 

Mrs.  Lansing  eyed  her  shrewdly  in  the  glass.  The 
situation  was  not  devoid  of  amusement. 

"  I  don't  quite  know  about  the  bed  in  the  yellow  room," 
she  continued  indifferently.  "  Mr.  Teddy  wants  Sir  Wil- 
fred Oxendale-Murray  put  there,  but " 

The  hairpin  of  the  moment  missed  fire  under  a  con- 
vulsive movement  of  its  director's  hand,  and  ran  into 
Mrs.  Lansing's  scalp.  "  Good  gracious,  'Orton !  " 

"  I  beg  pardon,  madame." 

And  Horton  considered,  as  she  went  on  with  her 
task,  the  advisability  of  leaving  her  present  very  com- 
fortable position  and,  if  she  could  not  find  one  with 
what  she  called  a  real  lady,  to  at  least  find  one  where 
she  could  enjoy  the  prestige  of  her  come-down  in  the 
world. 

It  had  at  least  been  better  than  nothing  to  be  able  to 
pity  Mrs.  Cockran  the  housekeeper,  and  the  other  ser- 
vants, for  the  commonness  of  their  mistress  and  her 
friends,  and  the  countess  in  Somersetshire  had  been 
worth  much  gold  to  her  as  a  means  of  enhancing  her 
own  importance. 


KINGSMEAD  119 

But  now  Wilson  the  butler  had  already  begun 
to  put  on  airs  on  the  strength  of  the  duchess's  pres- 
ence, and  even  Henry  the  first  footman  had  laughed, 
at  tea,  at  her  comparing  the  countess  to  his  lady's 
duchess. 

"  Chummy  as  hanythink  they  were,"  he  had  observed. 
"  /  did  n't  know  our  old  girl  'ad  that  kind  of  friends. 
Which  just  goes  to  prove  that  you  never  can  tell,  don't 
it,  Miss  'Orton?  " 

So  Horton's  heart  was  full  of  bitterness  as  she  ar- 
rayed her  lady  in  black  velvet,  according  to  strict  orders 
from  Inez,  who  had  shown  a  very  unusual  interest  in 
her  mother's  appearance. 

As  the  maid  clasped  a  necklace  of  fine  pearls  round 
Mrs.  Lansing's  billowy  neck,  Inez  came  into  the 
room. 

"  Oh,  mother,  how  nice  you  look !  " 

Mrs.  Lansing  stared,  a  half-amused  smile  on  her  lips. 
"  Thank  you,  Inez." 

Tbe  girl,  who  was  very  well  dressed  in  pale  yellow,  a 
shade  remarkably  becoming  to  her,  particularly  with  the 
unusual  colour  that  there  was  to-night  in  her  pale 
cheeks,  came  closer. 

"  She  's  a  dear  —  is  n't  she  ?  " 

"  Who?  —  Nanny  Gilpin?  " 

Mrs.  Lansing's  voice  was  malicious,  but  Inez  laughed. 

"  No,  the  Duchess.  And  she  seemed  to  like  you  so 
much,  mother." 


120  KINGSMEAD 

Mrs.  Lansing  shrugged  her  vast  shoulders,  an  act 
that  caused  a  kind  of  tidal-wave  of  flesh  to  rise  from 
her  pale  mauve  bosom  and  roll  up  in  a  threatening 
way. 

"  Like  me,  does  she,  my  dear  ?  I  dare  say.  Tommy 
told  'er  to." 

The  girl  stared,  her  keen  eyes  full  of  amazement. 

"Tommy?" 

"  Yes,  Tommy." 

"  But  you  must  n't  call  him  by  his  Christian  name, 
mother,  really  you  must  n't." 

The  old  lady  took  up  her  gloves  and  chuckled.  "  Why 
not?" 

"  Because  —  why,  because  you  don't  know  him  well 
enough." 

"  Oh,  'e  's  only  a  boy,"  returned  Mrs.  Lansing  com- 
fortably, "  and  it 's  cosier  calling  people  by  their 
names." 

She  did  not  look  at  her  daughter,  but  there  was  a 
suspicious  twist  to  her  lips  as  she  spoke. 

"  It  may  be  cosier,  mother,  but  —  it 's  not  done.  So 
please  don't  do  it  again." 

"  Anything  to  please  you,  my  dear.  I  '11  call  'im 
Lord  K.,  then." 

"  Mother ! " 

Inez  was  frankly  angry  now,  and  ignoring  the  pres- 
ence of  the  maid  in  a  way  that  would  have  done  credit 
to  one  born  in  higher  spheres,  she  burst  out  angrily, 


KINGSMEAD  121 

"  You  are  only  doing  it  to  annoy  me,  and  it 's  horrid 
of  you.  Do  as  you  like,  only  remember  that  the  Duchess 
will  think  you  very  vulgar  if  you  call  him  anything  but 
Lord  Kingsmead." 

Miss  Lansing's  indomitable  parent  laughed  heartily 
as  she  struggled  into  an  overtight  glove. 

"  Never  you  mind  about  the  Duchess,  my  dear.  The 
Duchess  won't  care  a  pin  what  I  call  anybody.  She  and 
me  '11  get  along  all  right,  because  she  Js  clever  enough  to 
dislike  affectation,  and  because  I  'm  clever  enough  to 
seem  just  what  the  Lord  made  me.  The  thing  she 
won't  like  is  your  being  grand.  Don't  you  be  grand, 
Inez  Maria,  or  she  won't  like  you.  If  you  are  n't 
born  grand  it 's  vulgar  to  try,  mind  that,  and  it 
does  n't  fool  anyone,  not  even  servants  —  does  it, 
'Orton?" 

Horton,  who  was  a  consistently  malicious  person, 
and  who  thoroughly  enjoyed  rows,  pursed  her  lips 
primly. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know,  madame.  I  Jve  card  Lady 
Cumberland  say " 

Mrs.  Lansing  waved  her  half-gloved  hand  indul- 
gently. "  Yes,  I  remember  your  telling  me  that. 
Well,  Inez,  come  along,  let 's  go  down.  And  you 
take  my  advice,  and  be  natural.  Then  if  the  Duchess 
don't  like  you  she  just  won't  like  you;  she  can't  laugh 
at  you,  or  think  you  vulgar.  Whereas  if  you  wince 
when  I  drop  an  '  h '  or  look  bored  when  your  father 


122  KINGSMEAD 

and  I  talk,  then  she  '11  despise  you.  Give  me  your  arm, 
my  dear." 

Inez  was  silenced.  All  her  life  she  had  failed  to  under- 
stand her  mother,  and  the  old  woman,  for  the  sake  of 
peace,  seldom  spoke  out  what  the  girl  had  an  uneasy 
sense  was  in  her  mind.  But  when,  as  on  this  occasion, 
Mrs.  Lansing  did  speak  out  and  assert  her  authority, 
her  mental  weight  hopelessly  outbalanced  her  daughter's, 
and  Inez,  baffled  and  angry  though  she  was,  came  nearer 
than  at  any  other  time  to  admiring  her. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  to  be  rude,  mother,"  Inez  said  as  they 
went  very  slowly  downstairs. 

"  You  were  n't  rude,  but  you  don't  always  understand 
things,  and  I  am  your  mother  and  must  tell  you.  I  'm 
glad  for  your  sake  that  the  Duchess  has  come,  and 
Tommy  was  a  dear  to  arrange  it.  And  as  to  me  —  well, 
she  is  a  clever  woman  and  I  like  her,  and  we  get  on  to- 
gether very  nicely." 

Inez  did  not  answer.  She  herself,  modelling  her 
manner  closely  after  the  young  woman  whose  existence 
Tommy  had  so  quickly  discovered,  had  met  the  Duchess 
calmly  and  gracefully,  but  she  knew  that  the  ducal 
advent  had  been  in  reality  very  upsetting  to  her,  whereas 
her  mother's  tranquillity  was,  she  fully  realised,  perfectly 
unaffected  and  deep-rooted. 

The  difference  between  her  mother  and  herself  was 
that  she  strove  for  what  her  mother,  in  spite  of  her 
educational  defects,  possessed  as  a  natural  gift.  And 


KINGSMEAD  123 

as  they  went  down  the  hall  the  girl  hated  herself  for 
her  eternal  attitude  of  pose.  Why  could  not  she  be 
natural  —  be  well  bred  naturally  ? 

It  was  a  difficult  question,  and  her  mind  was  not 
capable  of  answering  it.  When  they  entered  the  draw- 
ing-room they  found  Tommy  alone  in  it,  sitting  close 
to  the  fire.  Rising,  he  came  toward  them. 

"  Well,"  he  cried  eagerly,  "  how  do  you  like  her?  " 
Mrs.   Lansing  with   a   grunt   of   relief  lowered  her 
huge  body  into  a  chair  and  leaned  her  stick  against 
a  table. 

"  I  like  'er  very  much,"  she  returned  simply,  while 
the  half-reluctant  admiration  for  her  again  surged  in 
her  daughter's  mind. 

"Yes,  isn't  she  nice?     She  really  is  a  dear.     Has 
Habberton  come,  Mrs.  Lansing?  " 
"  Yes,  he  came  an  hour  ago." 

"  He  amuses  the  Duchess,"  explained  the  Master  of 
Ceremonies  quite  seriously.  "  He  writes,  you  know,  and 
she  likes  having  him  about." 

"  This  is  all  very  kind  of  you,  Lord  Kingsmead,"  be- 
gan Inez  suddenly,  her  dark  face  flushing ;  "  nobody  has 

thanked  you " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Lansing,  please  don't.  I  love  it  — 
not  being  thanked,  but  having  the  party.  You  must 
remember  that  I  have  been  living  the  life  of  a  hermit 
for  years,  and  that  I  love  people.  Also,  I  am  by  nature 
the  most  meddlesome  little  beggar !  " 


124  KINGSMEAD 

"  That  you  're  not,  Tommy,"  declared  the  old  woman 
decisively.  "  If  you  don't  want  to  be  thanked  you 
sha'  n't  be,  but  I  won't  let  you  call  yourself  names.  I 
think  this  party  delightful,  and  so  does  'Enry,  and  — 
the  nicest  part  of  it  is  'aving  you  with  us.  I  think  you 
are  about  the  nicest  boy  I  ever  knew.  So  there ! " 

Tommy's  little  sensitive  face  flushed  scarlet,  but  it  was 
with  pleasure,  not  with  embarrassment.  He  was  never 
embarrassed  unless  he  found  himself  forced  to  save  a 
situation  by  an  implied  or  an  expressed  lie.  This  child- 
like confidence,  not  so  much  in  himself  as  in  others,  was 
one  of  his  strongest  characteristics. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  he  said,  bending  over  her 
fat  old  hand  and  kissing  it  gently,  "I  —  I  do  so  like  to 
be  liked." 

"  Well,  well,  well !  Making  love  to  my  wife,  are  you, 
Lord  Kingsmead  ?  "  Old  Lansing  stood  beside  them, 
his  quick  blue  eyes  twinkling  pleasantly. 

Tommy  laughed.  "  She  has  been  making  love  to  me," 
he  answered;  "  have  n't  you,  Mrs.  Lansing?  " 

"  That  I  'ave,  'Enry.     Shocked?  " 

Her  smile  up  at  her  little  old  husband  was  very  sweet, 
and  Tommy  suddenly  saw  her,  in  one  of  his  lightning- 
flashes  of  visualisation,  as  she  must  have  been  in  their 
wooing  time.  And  because  he  knew  that  she  had  been 
a  poor  girl,  a  factory  girl,  he  seemed  to  see  her,  brown- 
haired  and  bright-eyed,  standing  by  a  large  wheel  in 
a  dark  wheel-filled  room.  The  wheels,  he  fancied,  were 


KINGSMEAD  125 

looms,  but  no  loom  was  ever  in  the  least  like  the  one  of 
his  imagination. 

For  a  moment,  thus,  he  stood  looking  on  at  the  youth 
of  his  old  host  and  hostess,  and  his  romantic  heart  beat 
loud  in  his  breast. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  Duchess,  whose  interest  in  Tommy's  plan  was  per- 
fectly unaffected  as  well  as  keen,  enjoyed  her  excellent 
dinner  with  a  zest  which  very  few  old  women  attain  to ; 
for  over  half  a  century  of  exaggeratedly  luxurious  feed- 
ing does  not  tend  to  strengthen  the  digestive  apparatus 
of  most  people. 

"  I,  however,"  the  old  lady  declared  with  the  gay  air 
that  made  her  matchless  among  her  contemporaries, 
"  am  an  ostrich !  And  the  ostrich  is  an  excellent  and 
contented  bird,  is  n't  he,  Tommy  ?  " 

Tommy  nodded,  his  most  faunlike  smile  curling  his 
mouth.  "  The  king  of  the  feathered  kingdom,"  he  re- 
turned, "  or  the  queen.  I  too  am  a  devotee  of  the  table. 
My  favourite  dish  is  maccaroni  and  sago  —  maccaroni 
cooked  in  gravy,  full  of  crumbs  of  some  perfectly 
indistinguishable  meat." 

Lady  Pontefract  smiled  down  the  table  at  him.  "  And 
wee  song-birds  fried  in  batter ! " 

He  flushed.  "  I  've  never  had  'em  again,  Brigit  — 
really  never"  The  episode  of  the  song-birds,  served  to 
them  at  dinner  one  night  at  the  Castelletto,  had  been  a 
painful  one,  for  Tommy  had  torn  his  hair  in  despair 
over  the  untimely  and  horrid  fate  of  the  tiny  tilings, 

126 


KINGSMEAD  127 

while  his  cook  and  factotum,  her  hands  on  her  hips, 
regarded  him  in  kindly,  scornful  wonder.  Brigit  had 
never  forgotten  the  scene. 

There  were  various  such  pictures  in  the  back  of  her 
mind,  waiting  only  for  the  flash-light  of  memory  to 
bring  them  into  vivid  prominence. 

Another  was  Tommy  lying  in  bed  tossed  with  fever, 
racked  with  pain,  listening  to  Victor  Joyselle  playing 
the  violin.  He  had  been  full  of  gentle  kindness  to  her 
little  brother,  the  great  man  whom  she  had  loved  — 
whom,  in  part,  she  should  always  love.  And  that 
autumn  evening,  as  he  played  to  the  sick  child,  his  face 
had  been  full  of  a  kind  of  glory. 

Lady  Pontefract  ate  her  dinner  as  her  neighbours 
did,  answered  old  Lansing,  who,  liking  her,  was  not 
frightened  by  her  grandeur,  but  talked  to  her  quite 
naturally  and  amusingly,  and  to  the  other  people  at  the 
table  looked  perfectly  self-possessed  and  as  usual.  But 
in  reality  her  mind  had  gone  back  ten  years  or  more 
and  she  was  re-living  the  one  year  of  her  life  that  had 
been  real  life. 

How  they  had  abused  him !  How  her  mother  had 
reviled  her!  How,  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  she, 
Brigit,  had  suffered! 

But  they  had  let  her  try  to  help  him.  Theo  had  been 
good  to  her,  and  only  the  Master's  own  gentle  indiffer- 
ence to  her  presence  had  at  last  broken  her  down  and 
sent  her  away  from  him. 


128  KINGSMEAD 

"  I  was  very  wicked,"  she  told  herself  tranquilly, 
facing,  as  she  had  always  done,  her  own  iniquity, 
"  and  he  did  try  to  be  loyal  to  his  son.  It  was  I  who 
would  n't  let  him.  But  he  did  love  me  a  little,  and  if 
I  had  been  good  he  would  have  loved  me  much  —  as  a 
daughter." 

Ancient  history,  all  this,  but  it  was  in  the  mind  of 
more  than  Lady  Pontefract  that  evening.  For  the 
Duchess  had  last  dined  at  Kingsmead  during  the  first 
visit  of  the  violinist,  and  now  she  too,  as  she  listened  to 
the  epigrammatic  and  slightly  forced  wit  of  the  pale- 
lipped  novelist  beside  her,  recalled  the  night  she  had 
watched  the  beautiful  girl  and  wondered  how  the  love 
of  a  pleasant  but  negative  youth  like  Theo  Joyselle 
could  so  transform  her. 

"  What  does  one  hear  of  Joyselle,  Brigit  ?  "  she  asked 
suddenly. 

Lady  Pontefract  looked  at  her.  "  I  was  just  thinking 
about  him,  Duchess.  He  has  had  another  stroke  and  is 
living  in  Normandy.  Theo  tells  me  that  his  mind  is 
quite  clear  and  that  he  seems  very  contented,  although 
he  can  never  play  again." 

She  spoke  without  a  shade  of  embarrassment,  her 
sombre,  dark  eyes  fixed  on  the  old  woman's  face. 

"  Poor  man,  poor  man !  I  heard  him  play  in  town 
two  years  ago.  He  was  magnificent  that  day  —  nearly 
drove  his  audience  mad.  A  most  majestic  creature  he 
was." 


KINGSMEAD  129 

"  Yes.  I  last  heard  him  in  Paris  —  at  the  Chatelet, 
just  after  we  came  home  from  the  East." 

The  Duchess's  eyes  glowed.  "  Did  you  see  him  to 
speak  to?  "  She  was  very  curious  and  had  not  the 
gentle  tact  that  kept  Tommy's  curiosity  so  well  within 
bounds. 

Brigit  smiled.  "  No.  It  would  have  upset  me,  and 
he  would  not  have  liked  it,"  she  returned ;  "  but  Ponty 
saw  him  at  the  Cafe  de  Paris  one  night.  He  was  greatly 
en  train,  throwing  flowers,  etc." 

"  A  delightful  vaurlen,"  murmured  the  Duchess,  a 
little  disappointed,  for  though  she  liked  Brigit  it  would 
have  amused  her  to  detect  in  her  some  sign  of  emotion. 
Tommy  it  was  who  answered  her. 

"  Vaurien,  Duchess?    He?    How  can  you!" 

"  My  dear  Tommy,  don't  teach  your  grandmother  — 
etc.  A  great  musician,  a  genius,  a  charming  and  a  good 
friend  —  all  these  things  I  will  grant  you ;  but  —  oh 
yes,  quite  decidedly  a  vaurien  as  well.  Loved  not  wisely 
but  too  often  —  that  kind  of  person.  Ah  me !  "  she 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  as  she  removed  a  drop  of  mayonnaise 
that  had  fallen  on  her  bejewelled  old  bosom,  "  how  true 
it  is,  in  matters  of  love,  that  to  him  who  has  much  will 
be  given.  The  creature  loved  dozens  of  women,  and 
hundreds  of  women  loved  him." 

Old  Lansing,  who  vaguely  remembered  a  story  about 
the  great  fiddler  and  Lady  Pontefract,  coughed  diffi- 
dently at  this  point  and  drew  a  herring  across  the  trail, 
9 


130  KINGSMEAD 

in  the  shape  of  a  sudden  question  about  the  Duchess's 
dog,  whom  he  had  seen  being  carried  upstairs  by  her 
maid. 

"Oh,  Flafla?  Nasty  little  dog.  I  hate  little  dogs, 
but  my  maid  likes  'em,  and  as  Flafla  is  very  valuable 
(somebody  gave  her  to  me),  Poe  is  very  attentive  to 
her.  She  enhances  Foe's  importance,  I  dare  say.  Do 
you  like  dogs,  Mr.  Lansing?  " 

Old  Lansing's  wistful,  wrinkled  face  suddenly  broad- 
ened delightedly. 

"  Yes,  your  grace,  I  love  'em.  I  're  got  a  terrier, 
Pincher,  'oo  is  as  intelligent  as  most  'uman  beings.  'E 
sits  up  and  begs  just ' 

"  Just  like  a  man?  Yes,  yes,  dogs,  in  their  unattrac- 
tive qualities,  are  very  like  men.  They  are  greedy, 
low-minded,  time-serving  —  and  capricious.  I  never 
saw  a  dog  who  wanted  ever  to  be  where  he  was.  If 
they  're  in  they  want  to  go  out,  and  if  they  're  out  they 
want  to  go  in.  Hate  'em!  " 

Everyone  laughed,  for  her  arraignment  she  deliv- 
ered in  a  pleasant,  soft  voice,  while  she  beamed  at  old 
Lansing,  who  was  much  surprised  by  the  result  of  his 
question. 

The  Duchess,  old  as  she  was,  usually  found  herself  the 
centre  of  attraction  at  dinner.  She  was  shrewd  and 
kindly,  and  wise  with  the  great  wisdom  of  those  old 
people  who  have  lived  every  moment  of  their  lives. 

So  she  smiled  at  her  audience,  as  the  others  had  tac- 


KINGSMEAD  131 

itly  constituted  themselves,  and  with  a  gay  wave  of  a 
well-kept,  curiously  veined  old  hand,  dismissed  it  as  an 
entity  and  made  it  recede  into  individuality. 

"  Who,"  she  said  in  an  undertone  to  old  Lansing  as 
two  or  three  different  conversations  began  at  the  same 
time,  "  did  you  say  this  charming  little  creature  in 
white  is?  " 

"  Gilpin,"  whispered  Lansing  behind  his  hand.  "  A 
widow.  'Usband  in  the  army.  Great  friend  of  my 
girl's." 

"  I  like  her  —  nice  hair  —  nice  eyes.  Have  you  ever 
met  Pam  Wantage,  Mr.  Lansing  —  I  mean  Pam 
Lensky?  They  are  coming  to-morrow." 

Lansing  glanced  at  her  quickly,  some  of  the  shrewd- 
ness and  self-possession  of  his  business  personality  flow- 
ing for  a  moment  through  the  shy  dulness  of  his  society 
manner. 

"  No,"  he  returned  frankly,  "  never  even  'eard  of  'er. 
This  party,  Duchess,  is  really  Tommy's,  as  you  must 
see." 

"  I  gathered  as  much.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  indeed, 
he  told  me  so.  Oh,  I  quite  understand,"  she  went  on, 
"  and  I  like  it,  too.  It 's  hard  for  a  young  thing  like 
your  girl  to  see  gaiety  going  on  and  not  be  in  it.  As 
to  Tommy  —  he  is  my  greatest  j  oy.  He  ought  to 
be  handsome  and  he  is  n't,  but  —  his  funny  face  is 
charming,  I  think.  Is  he  in  love  with  your  daughter?  " 

Lansing  started  and  then  laughed.     "  Not  likely,  is 


KINGSMEAD 

it  ?  Of  course  '•  is  n't.  But  —  I  think  'e  likes  my  wife 
and  me.  Teddy  'e  loves.  Why  'e  should  take  such  a 
lot  of  trouble  about  us  I  can't  quite  see,  but  —  there 
it  is.  It  amuses  'im,  I  suppose.  'E  's  romantic,  Tommy 
is." 

The  Duchess  was  very  glad  she  had  come.  Her  great- 
nephew  the  present  duke  was  a  model  landlord  and  a 
budding  pillar  of  state,  —  if  a  pillar  can  be  said  ever 
to  do  anything  so  poetic  as  bud,  —  but  he  was  a  dull 
dog,  and  she  would  have  loathed  Christmas  with  him 
and  his  prolific  and  red-nosed  wife.  It  was  a  great 
grievance  of  the  old  lady's,  this  fact  that  just  her  great- 
nephew  should  be  so  indisputably  the  dullest  duke  in 
England,  for  she  herself  was  as  unquestionably  the  gay- 
est dowager-duchess,  as  well  as  the  second  oldest.  It 
bored  her  beyond  words  to  hear  people  praise  the  young 
man  who  kept  his  strawberry  leaves  so  stodgily  under 
a  bushel,  and  she  used  sorrowfully  to  enumerate  the  bold, 
bad  young  dukes  who  should  have  been  her  nephews. 

"  Charlotte  St.  Edmunds  mourns  over  that  Gaiety 
daughter-in-law  of  hers,"  she  had  been  heard  to  cry, 
"  whereas  I  would  welcome  her  with  open  arms.  A  de- 
lightful, amusing  little  thing,  who  raakes  St.  Edmunds 
stantl  round  and  wait  on  her  as  if  he  were  a  slave  and 
she  a  queen.  Most  amusing!  And  as  to  his  debts  and 
his  breach-of-promise  case  —  bless  us  and  save  us,  I 
would  pay  someone  to  sue  Egbert  if  there  was  any  chance 
of  getting  even  some  fun  out  of  it,  But  there  are  n't 


KINGSMEAD  133 

twelve  men  in  England  who  would  n't  bring  in  a  verdict 
for  him  against  any  possible  evidence.  A  most  horrible 
young  man,  my  ducal  nephew !  " 

But  then  Eliza  Wight  was  a  shocking  old  woman,  and 
those  of  her  contemporaries  to  whom,  as  to  Solomon 
and  David,  time  had  brought  a  certain  amount  of  plated 
piety,  used  to  shake  their  heads  over  her  outspokenness 
and  comfortably  forget  in  their  dove-coloured  presents 
their  own  more  or  less  purple  pasts. 

Therefore,  her  old  spirit  of  adventure  still,  as  she 
herself  would  have  put  it,  "  going  strong,"  the  Duchess 
smiled  at  pretty  Nancy  Gilpin  and  handsome  Teddy, 
and  was  glad  that  she  was  here  and  not  with  Egbert  and 
Beryl  at  Wight  Castle. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

"  IT  is,"  Tommy  told  himself  several  hours  later,  as  he 
walked  up  and  down  his  room,  his  hands  in  his  trousers 
pockets,  "  the  end  of  the  first  part.  Or  rather,  possibly, 
the  introduction.  My  coming,  my  grasping  the  situa- 
tion —  or  no,  I  did  n't  grasp  it,  it  just  seemed  to  soak 
in,  as  if  I  were  a  *  sponge-finger  '  and  it  the  rum  and 
sugar  —  was  the  introduction  —  the  prologue.  Teddy, 
the  dear,  and  his  dear  old  father  and  mother,  and  Inez. 
She  stands  for  unrest,  Inez,  and  mental  discomfort. 
Quite  obviously  the  one  to  be  pacified,  the  one  requir- 
ing sops.  And  then  the  Mignonette  Lady !  She,  in 
her  way,  is  perfect.  And  it  is  a  good  way.  She  is  not 
brilliant,  but  brilliant  women  are  a  bore  in  the  long 
run.  She  is  beautiful,  and  quiet,  and  sympathetic,  and 
good. 

"  And  Teddy  adores  her.  He  will  always  adore  her. 
It  is  the  Blessed,  Marvellous,  Real  Thing. 

"  In  this  galere  arrive  I,  Tommy  the  Small  and  Inter- 
ested. And  I  wonder  at  first,  and  then,  of  course,  I 
squirm.  (If  that  girl  could  only  realise,  poor  thing, 
that  it 's  the  squirming  feeling  one  gets  when  with  her 
father  and  mother  and  her  that  matters !)  I  like  the  old 
ones,  and  am  sorry  for  the  young  one. 

134 


KINGSMEAD  135 

"  And  then,  as  if  a  worsted  warrior  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  deep  in  one  of  his  pockets  —  do  warriors  have 
pockets  ?  —  he  carries  a  forgotten  weapon,  I  remember 
my  forgotten  weapon. 

"  Teddy's  love-story  must  be  told  in  a  beautiful  gar- 
den, not  in  a  —  not  in  a  crowded  room  full  of  scolding 
people.  Inez  must  be  placated,  poor  girl!  Father  and 
mother  must  be  shown  at  their  real  value,  so  that  she 
will  not  enhance  the  squirmy  feeling.  Tommy  the  In- 
significant must  go  forth  nonce,  and  the  Right  Honour- 
able Earl  of  Kingsmead  burst  forth  from  that  modest 
chrysalis.  Hey  presto  !  —  a  Duchess,  a  Scots  Greysman, 
the  much-sought-after  Madame  de  Lensky. 

"  Christmas,  full  of  sentimental  possibilities,  the 
Mignonette  Lady  in  the  house  with  Teddy,  a  dance 
New  Year's  eve  in  the  Great  Hall  of  my  fathers,  — 
'  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  all  men,'  "  concluded  the 
soliloquiser,  suddenly  serious,  quoting  the  beautiful 
phrase  as  the  old  version  hath  it,  for  he  had  lived  of 
late  in  a  country  where  the  ancient  form  prevails. 

His  window  was  open,  for  the  cold  weather  had  broken, 
and  a  warm,  light  rain  had  just  stopped  falling.  Stand- 
ing there  looking  out  into  the  mild  night,  Tommy's  face 
wore  a  quaint  expression  of  pride  and  wistfulness.  He 
had  taken  things  into  his  own  hands  ;  he  loved  managing 
people  and  nursing  situations ;  and  up  to  this  all  had 
gone  well. 

Yet  something  arrested  his  thoughts  and  made  him 


136  KINGSMEAD 

pause  with  a  little  mental  start.  He  had  set  going  a 
somewhat  complicated  machine.  What  would  happen 
now?  Teddy  in  his  strength  and  beauty  meant  to  him 
something  so  romantic;  Teddy's  love  for  the  gentle 
little  Mignonette  Lady  something  so  poetic ;  should  he, 
as  gardener,  be  able  to  do  all  that  he  wished?  Humanity 
is  so  impotent.  For  a  moment  the  young  man's  small 
face  was  wan  with  anxiety.  Then,  hearing  a  low  sound, 
he  leaned  out  of  his  window,  and  saw  at  a  neighbouring 
window  Teddy  sitting  gazing  up  at  where  he  stood  — 
Teddy  watching  the  Mignonette  Lady's  light.  Tommy 
smiled  delightedly. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  aloud,  "  it  is  only  the  end  to  the  pro- 
logue.   La  commedia  comwcia" 


PART   II    *%*    CHAPTER   I 

THE  comedy,  as  Tommy  called  it,  in  the  Italian  sense, 
meaning  not  a  farcical  play,  but  a  play  of  men  and  man- 
ners untouched  by  black  tragedy,  began  auspiciously. 
His  feeling  that  he  was  in  a  way  the  magician  who  had 
called  from  the  vasty  deep  spirits  who  were  to  lend  their 
aid  to  his  earthly  proteges,  this  feeling  of  anxious  pro- 
prietorship Tommy  shared  with  two  people. 

The  Duchess,  summoning  him  to  her  bedside  the  morn- 
ing of  Christmas  eve,  told  him  in  so  many  words  that 
she  regarded  him  as  a  conspirator.  "  You  are  masterly, 
but  I  see  through  you  and  your  '  beautiful  reason,'  "  she 
declared,  smiling  at  him  from  under  the  lace  scarf  that 
disguised  her  lack  of  hair ;  "  masterly  but  also  manag- 
ing. Your  great-uncle  Oswald  used  to  declare  that  I 
had  a  finger  that  longed  to  be  in  every  pie,  and  I  declare 
that  you  have.  You  are  a  meddling,  match-making 
person ! " 

Tommy  sat  down  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Match-making?  "  he  asked  with  obviously  artificial 
ingenuousness.  "  Now  what  can  you  mean  by  that? 
My  great-uncle  Oswald  was  more  discerning  than  you, 
I  fear." 

137 


1S8  KINGSMEAD 

"  Get  out !  You  mean  the  Sun-god  to  marry  the 
pretty  person  with  the  eyes." 

"  Well?  "  Unabashed,  Tommy  helped  himself  to  a 
bit  of  toast  from  her  tray  and  crunched  it  boldly. 
"  Could  anything  be  better?  " 

The  Duchess  finished  her  tea  and  set  down  the  cup. 
"  My  dear  boy,  no  mortal  has  ever  yet  profited  a  ha'- 
pennyworth  by  the  experience  of  any  other  mortal,  but 
I  must  tell  you  that  match-making  is  a  snare  of  the  evil 
one.  Moi  qui  vous  parle,  I  know  it." 

"  And  moi  qui  vous  parle  agree.  Only  "  —  Tommy 
beamed  delightedly  at  her  —  "  it  is  such  fun,  is  n't  it  ? 
Besides,"  he  amended  hastily,  "  I  have  not  plotted  to 
make  a  marriage;  the  marriage,  humanly  speaking,  is 
made.  I  came  here  and  found  it  already  begun  and 
going  strong.  All  I  want  to  do  is  —  make  things  easy 
and  pleasant  for  them.  They  are,"  he  added,  "  both 
such  dears." 

"  Oh,  dears,  yes.  And  I  like  her.  She  is  a  lady,  and 
she  is  quiet.  Also,  she  is  quite  delicious  to  look  at. 
Who  is  she?  " 

Tommy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Have  n't  an  idea. 
I  believe  her  name  was  Blair.  Her  husband  was  killed  in 
some  native  uprising  in  India.  She  was  very  fond  of 
him.  But  he  was,  I  believe,  years  older  than  she.  Teddy 
told  me  these  things.  She  never  talks  about  herself." 

"  Any  money?  " 

"  Two  thousand  a  year.    But  he  has  no  end,  you  see." 


KINGSMEAD  139 

Foe,  her  grace's  maid,  coming  into  the  room  to  bring 
the  post,  pursed  her  lips  disapprovingly  at  the  sight  of 
the  plotters.  The  Duchess  might  be  as  old  as  the  'ills, 
but  there  are  limits,  Poe  thought. 

Poe  in  her  youth  had  been  quite  joyously  unmoral, 
but  that  she  had,  no  doubt,  forgotten. 

"  He  's  very  much  in  love,"  pronounced  the  Duchess, 
disregarding  the  woman's  presence.  "  I  like  to  see  it." 

"  So  do  I,"  agreed  Tommy  gravely.  Then  he  burst 
out  laughing  at  his  sententiousness,  for  he  saw  his  youth 
and  was  amused  by  it  in  a  .way  unknown  to  most 
youngsters. 

"  How  wise  I  sound,  don't  I?  "  he  asked  with  a  little 
chuckle. 

"  Very.    Were  you  ever  in  love  yourself?  " 

"  Ah  no !  Not  that.  I  am  only  three-and-twenty," 
he  returned,  suddenly  grave. 

"  H'm !  I  have  known  people  —  however,  to  get  back 
to  our  muttons.  What  will  the  father  and  mother 
say?" 

"  Say  ?    They  '11  be  delighted,  of  course.    Why  not?  " 

"  You  never  can  tell,  as  Father  Bernard  Shaw  says 
—  such  a  nice  composite  name  for  the  two  reforming  B's, 
is  n't  it  ?  They  might  think  her  too  old  for  him.  She 
must  be  seven-and-twenty." 

"  She  is,  exactly  seven-and-twenty.  And  he  is  twenty- 
four.  But  what,"  he  added,  "  can  that  possibly  matter? 
She  is  so  beautiful,  and  then  she  is  so  quiet  and  —  and 


140  KINGSMEAD 

good.  Teddy,"  he  went  on,  choosing  his  every  word 
with  obvious  care,  "  is  a  splendid  fellow,  but  he  has  of 
course  the  faults  of  his  qualities,  like  everybody  else  — 
except  thee  and  me !  And  the  more  I  see  of  her  the  more 
I  am  convinced  that  she  is  the  one  woman  in  the  world 
who  can  make  of  him  what  he  is  capable  of.  I  mean  to 
say  to  be  such  a  perfect  balance-wheel  for  him " 

"  Chorus  girls  or  cards?  "  inquired  the  Duchess  dis- 
concertingly, and  the  foolish  Tommy  actually  blushed. 

"  What  a  horrid  old  woman  you  are ! "  he  declared 
with  a  frown  of  disapproval.  "  Who  suggested  any- 
thing so  awful?  " 

"  You  did  n't,  but  —  you  meant  'em.  So  he  's  wild, 
the  Sun-god,  and  her  r61e  is  to  tame  him.  Poor  thing !  " 
she  added  drily. 

"  Jolly  lucky  to  have  him  marry  her,  nice  though  she 
is,"  declared  Teddy's  champion  with  warmth.  "  He  's 
splendid,  Lanner  is,  and  I  love  him  dearly." 

"  What  an  essentially  un-British  speech !  Italy 
again ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  mean  that  the  Italian  sun,  brazen  old  crea- 
ture, seems  to  burn  in  to  Anglo-Saxons  who  live  under 
him  a  certain  warmth  and  frankness  unknown  to  us 
stray  stay-at-homes.  Pam  Lensky  was  much  like  you  in 
that  way.  She  spoke  in  English  but  she  thought  in 
Italian.  However,  go  on.  What  were  you  saying? 
That  he  was  very  fast  and  needed  a  brake  on  his  wheel." 


KINGSMEAD  141 

"  Not  a  bit.  That  —  well,  that  he  loves  her  and  — 
that  if,  as  I  believe,  she  loves  him,  she  can  bring  him  to 
the  highest  possibilities  of  his  nature.  And  another 
thing.  Miss  Lansing,  up  to  this,  has  not  noticed,  and 
do  help  me  to  keep  her  from  noticing.  She  —  she  's 
very  fond  of  Teddy  and  she  likes  Mrs.  Gilpin,  but  —  if 
she  saw,  I  'm  sure  she  'd  say  things  —  tease  them!  " 

He  shuddered  at  the  thought,  a  genuine,  anticipatory 
shudder  of  horror. 

"  It  would  be  too  awful.  Mrs.  Gilpin  is  so  —  well, 
you  know  what  I  mean,  so  dainty-minded.  It  would  spoil 
everything  for  her  if  Miss  Lansing  said  anything.  Do 
you  know  what  I  mean  ?  "  he  added  anxiously. 

The  old  woman  nodded.  This  was  the  second  young 
thing  who  had  stirred  her  by  a  subtle  resemblance  to  the 
Oswald  Yeoland  of  her  youth.  The  second  young  thing, 
and  the  first  was  now  a  middle-aged  woman  with  grey 
hair. 

The  Duchess  closed  her  old  eyes  for  a  moment.  She 
felt  very  ancient,  as  if  she  were  destined  to  go  on  living 
forever,  watching  young  people  love,  lose  their  illusions, 
their  beauty,  their  youth,  while  she  herself  remained, 
as  it  were,  anchored  in  an  amusing  but  at  the  same  time 
desperately  weary  old  age.  And  Tommy  realised  her 
mood  and  liked  it. 

"  You  do  understand,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on 
hers  as  it  lay  on  the  counterpane,  "  you  do,  and  you  will 
help?  Let 's  be  romantic  and  old-fashioned,  Duchess 


KINGSMEAD 

dear  —  you  be  their  fairy  godmother  and  I  '11  be  your 
—  page-boy  or  something.  Let 's  draw  a  web  of  unre- 
ality round  them,  the  young  lovers ;  keep  the  wind  from 
blowing  on  them,  and  the  rain  from  raining  on  them. 
Let 's  manage  for  them,  arrange  that  they  may  be  alone, 
send  them  for  walks  and  drives,  and  win  away  from  the 
others  little  wonderful  half -hours  at  the  piano  —  a 
piano  must  be  a  good  chaperon  —  and  little  quick  min- 
utes at  windows  at  night.  Let 's  build  for  them  a  wall- 
less  palace  in  which  the  dears  shall  think  themselves  in- 
visible. That 's  all  they  want  —  to  be  alone  —  alone 
among  all  of  us.  It  ought  to  be  warm  summer  with 
roses,  but  at  least  dusky  minutes  of  crumbling  fires  can 
be  theirs " 

He  broke  off,  glowing  with  delight  and  beautifully 
unashamed  of  his  outburst,  as  he  stood  holding  her  old 
kind  hand  in  his  young  kind  one. 

She  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  wet  with  the  ready,  unfail- 
ing tears  of  emotional  old  age. 

"  You  are  a  poet,"  she  said  gently. 

"  Ah  no !  I  am  only  a  musician  rate  —  failed.  But 
the  whole  world  seems  a  poem  when  I  look  at  them.  Is 
it  a  bargain?  " 

"  It  is,  my  dear,"  she  answered.       "  Give  me  a  kiss." 
And  his  baby  moustache  just  touched  her  faded  cheek. 


CHAPTER  II 

"  WHAT  are  you  not  to  do,  Pammy?  " 

The  young  girl  laughed  but  answered  promptly: 
"  Not  cross  my  legs ;  not  laugh  too  loud ;  not  sing ; 
not  make  a  beast  of  myself  over  my  food." 

Lensky  nodded.  "  Right,  oh  ma  fille  desesperante. 
Also  control  your  habit  of  butting  into  people  in  dark 
passages,  and  above  all  don't  ask  questions." 

"  And  don't  bite  your  nails,"  added  Pam. 

Pammy  turned  indignantly.  "  Now,  really,  mamma ! 
As  if  I  ever  bit  my  nails  now !  However,  all  my  pleasures 
seem  to  be  forbidden,  so  perhaps  I  'd  better  get  out  and 
walk  back  to  town." 

She  had  a  pleasant,  wide  smile,  showing  very  white 
teeth,  and  under  a  black  mushroom-shaped  hat  her 
bright  hair  and  red  cheeks  looked  rather  charming. 

The  three,  with  a  small  fourth,  sat  in  the  biggest  of 
the  Kingsmead  limousines,  the  fourth,  young  Thaddeus, 
curled  up  with  his  nose  glued  to  the  window. 

"  There  's  a  cow,"  he  cried  delightedly.  "  I  am  glad 
to  see  a  cow." 

Pammy  laid  a  large  dogskin  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"  Q.  K.,"  she  observed. 

"  I  won't  be  called  a  quaint  kid,  need  I,  father?  " 

143 


KINGSMEAD 

Thaddeus,  turning,  displayed  a  brown  face  full  of  help- 
less indignation.  Pammy  was  so  big  that  even  a  great 
fellow  of  eleven  stood  no  chance  against  her.  And 
Pammy  was  an  inveterate  bred-in-the-bone  tease. 

"  Shut  up,  Pammy,"  commanded  Pam  carelessly ;  "  if 
you  tease  him  you  '11  be  sent  home." 

Pam's  hair  was  very  grey,  but  she  had  not  grown  old. 
She  never  would  grow  old.  There  are  a  few  such  women, 
and  curiously  enough  they  are  always  women  who  sin- 
cerely do  not  mind  the  process.  Your  dyed-haired,  care- 
fully made-up  middle-aged  young  woman  never  belongs 
to  the  elect  few  who  remain,  till  the  day  they  die,  chil- 
dren with  children,  maidens  with  maidens,  young  women 
with  the  rest  of  the  world. 

For  the  thing,  the  growing  old  and  fading  of  which 
really  matter,  is  not,  as  is  generally  supposed,  either  the 
skin  or  the  light  of  the  eye.  It  is  an  inner  thing,  for 
which  no  satisfactory  name  has  yet  been  found,  though 
perhaps  "  spirit "  is  the  nearest  expression  of  it.  And 
Pam's  spirit  was  young. 

So,  laughing  and  talking,  the  little  party  reached  the 
small  door  in  the  court  at  Kingsmead  and  were  received 
into  the  warm  heart  of  that  hospitable  house. 

In  a  second  motor,  closely  following  them,  came  an 
old,  delicate-looking  woman  in  a  rather  grand  black 
dress  and  a  very  bugle-y  bonnet,  and  a  rosy,  black- 
haired  girl  of  fifteen.  These  two  were  Jane  Pilgrim, 
once  Pam's  dearest  in  the  world  and  still  tyrant  in  the 


KINGSMEAD  145 

household,  and  the  elder  Lensky  child,  Eliza,  the  Duch- 
ess's goddaughter. 

Convoyed  by  the  attendant  sprite  Tommy  to  the  pres- 
ence of  their  hostess  and  the  Fairy  Godmother,  the  little 
party  was  soon  seated,  with  the  exception  of  the  grand 
Miss  Pilgrim,  round  the  fire  in  the  hall,  eating  and 
drinking  and  talking. 

Mrs.  Lansing,  busy  with  her  cards,  listened  to  all  that 
was  said,  put  rapid  questions,  gave  rapid  answers.  She 
was  greatly  pleased  with  the  change  that  had  taken 
place  in  her  household. 

The  Duchess  was  charming,  the  guardsman  affable 
and  obviously  glad  he  had  come,  the  novelist  was  quite 
as  unobjectionable  as  a  novelist  could  possibly  be,  and 
best  of  all,  they  all  liked  'Enry  and  brought  him  out  and 
made  him  talk,  and  listened  to  him  when  he  did  talk! 

Thus  Inez,  impressed  by  the  deference  paid  by  the 
younger  members  of  the  house-party  to  her  impossible 
parents,  had  begun  to  lose  the  anxious  look  that  was  so 
ungracious  in  a  young  girl,  and  to  be  more  natural  and 
pleasant  than  her  mother  could  remember  her  ever  hav- 
ing been  before. 

Tommy,  of  course,  author  of  all  this  bliss,  Tommy 
had  always  been  perfection.  That  he  was  wonderful  and 
comforting  she  had  known  from  the  first ;  but  that  even 
he  could  at  will  bring  a  beneficent  rain,  so  to  speak,  of 
simple-mannered  swells  to  check  the  drought  that  had 

so  long  continued  at  Kingsmead,  she  had  not  dared  to 
10 


146  KINGSMEAD 

believe.  Yet  even  this  had  happened,  and  the  Duchess 
had  called  her  "  my  dear  "  twice  as  they  played  double 
patience  together ! 

"  You  will  play  for  us,  Jack,  after  dinner?  " 

De  Lensky  bowed  ceremoniously.  "  With  pleasure, 
Duchess."  And  it  occurred  to  nobody  that  the  Duchess 
might  have  waited  until  Mrs.  Lansing  should  ask 
him. 

Inez,  who  was  really  looking  pretty,  and  to  whom  the 
guardsman  was  making  cautious  love  in  the  billiard- 
room,  looked  out  at  the  merry  group  by  the  fire  and 
laughed. 

"  Is  n't  he  a  dear  little  fellow,  Tommy  Kingsmead?  " 
she  asked. 

Captain  Sir  Wilfred  Axendale-Murray  screwed  into 
his  eye  the  old-fashioned  eye-glass  of  dandyism. 

"  Rum  little  cove,  is  n't  he?  Sister  drew  all  the  looks, 
didn't  she?" 

Lady  Brigit,  who  sat  with  her  hand  on  the  arm  of 
Madame  de  Lensky's  chair,  looked  indeed  very  lovely  in 
the  firelight.  Inez  nodded.  "  Perfectly  beautiful,"  she 
agreed  warmly,  for  she  was  happy,  and  her  small  nature 
needed  happiness  to  bring  out  its  savour. 

Sir  Wilfred  shook  his  head.  "  Ah  no,  not  that"  he 
protested  in  an  appraising  voice ;  "  must  have  been  ten 
years  ago  though.  Too  cold  to  suit  me.  I  like,"  he 
added,  with  a  sidelong  glance,  "  more  colour  and  more 


KINGSMEAD  147 

And  Inez  laughed,  for  she  had  plenty  of  go  when 
there  was  anything  to  go  at. 

The  guardsman  was  hard  up,  and  the  guardsman  had 
expensive  tastes.  Tommy  had  known  what  he  was  about 
when  he  had  asked  him  down,  for  very  solvent,  thrifty 
young  guardsmen  are  at  a  premium,  and  had,  he  knew, 
been  all  snapped  up  for  the  holidays  by  the  early 
mamma.  Inez  was  not  plainer  than  most  rich  girls,  the 
young  man  thought,  and  there  was  only  one  son.  Also, 
she  would  no  doubt  like  to  be  my  lady  —  even  if  her 
husband  was  only  a  baronet. '  "  And  money,  I  '11  be 
bound,  to  b-u-r-n." 

Thus  the  second  wooing  sheltered  by  Tommy's  mild 
wing. 

Tommy  himself,  crossing  the  billiard-room,  nodded 
at  the  two  talking  over  the  table. 

"  Oh,  what  it  is  to  be  young ! "  he  grinned  to  him- 
self. Axendale-Murray  was,  he  knew,  rather  an  ass, 
but  he  was  a  nice  ass,  and  if  Inez  pleased  him  —  why 
not? 

"  I  think  I  '11  start  a  matrimonial  agency,  Duchess," 
Tommy  began  a  few  minutes  later,  sitting  down  by  the 
old  woman  and  taking  up  a  peacock-feather  fire-screen. 
"  I  seem  to  have  been  born  for  that  purpose." 

"Why,  my  dear?" 

"  Well  —  I  don't  know.  Here  's  Axendale-Murray 
casting  the  eye  of  approval  on  Miss  Lansing,  and  Teddy 
and  Mrs.  Gilpin  have  disappeared  and  no  one  noticed, 


148  KINGSMEAD 

because  I  went  with  them  as  far  as  the  library  to  look 
at  the  Faerie  Queene,  which  —  does  n't  exist " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  taken  to  lying  to 
help  on  your  proteges  ?  Oh,  don't  do  that !  Telling  the 
truth  is  so  much  more  original !  " 

He  shook  his  head  gravely.  "  Certainly  not.  I  mean 
I  never  lie.  Teddy  did,  though  all  he  said  was,  *  Want 
to  see  the  Faerie  Queene  ?  '  And  —  she  is  his  Faerie 
Queene,  is  n't  she  ?  Though  I  'm  bound  to  admit  that 
that  sanctifying  thought  originates  in  my  mind  at  this 
moment.  Hello,  he  's  going  to  play.  I  have  n't  heard 
him  for  years." 

Jack  Lensky  had  opened  the  piano,  and,  his  fine, 
white  profile  sharply  outlined  against  the  dark  panel- 
ling of  the  walls,  began  to  play,  touching  the  piano  at 
first  in  an  almost  apologetic  manner,  as  if  saying  to  it, 
"  My  dear  creature,  I  know  I  'm  not  worthy  of  the 
honour,  but  do  sing  to  me  a  little."  And  the  piano 
sang. 

He  was  not  a  finished  musician;  indeed,  he  played 
entirely  by  ear;  but  that  ear  was  extraordinarily  cor- 
rect and  fine,  and  his  memory  quite  remarkable. 

So  it  was  very  delightful  to  sit  there  in  the  great, 
softly  lighted  hall  and  listen  to  him.  Tommy,  as  he 
listened,  also  observed  the  other  listeners,  and  he  won- 
dered what  he  should  see  if  he  could  have  read  their 
thoughts. 

Lady  Pontef  ract,  sitting  alone  in  a  deep  window-niche. 


KINGSMEAD  149 

was  leaning  back,  her  face  in  the  shadow,  her  beautiful 
mauve  skirts  spread  out  like  the  petals  of  a  huge  flower. 
She  of  course  was  thinking  of  another  musician  who  had 
played  long  ago  in  that  room.  Tommy  knew,  and  his 
lips  quivered  for  an  instant. 

The  Duchess?  Vaguely  he  realised  that  she  was  far 
away  in  her  youth,  listening  to  other  music. 

Old  Lansing  sat  by  his  wife,  his  square,  thin  hand  on 
her  soft  white  one  —  Darby  and  Joan  in  a  very  modern 
edition. 

Pam  Lensky,  who  did  not  like  music,  was  reading 
near  the  fire,  its  light  dancing  on  her  slim,  upright 
figure  and  thick  grey  hair.  At  last,  as  her  husband 
played  on  and  on,  changing  from  one  air  to  another,  the 
music  affected  even  her  musically  deaf  soul,  for  it  was 
he  who  played,  and  she  dropped  her  review  and  turned 
and  watched  the  musician,  a  thoughtful  smile  on  her 
lips. 

"Ever  heard  that  story?"  whispered  the  Duchess 
suddenly,  glancing  at  her. 

Tommy  shook  his  head,  awakened  from  a  dream  of 
blue  water  and  sky  and  yellow  light  drenching  an  olive- 
green  slope. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  some  day.  Her  romance,  poor  dear ! 
I  never  knew  it  till  two  years  ago,  when  he  died.  Then 
she  told  me." 

Tommy  nodded,  and  after  a  moment  crept  quietly 
down  the  room  and  up  the  stairs.  If  they  were  there  he 


150  KINGSMEAD 

would  open  the  windows  so  that  the  music  could  reach 
them 

At  the  top  of  the  stairs  he  stood  still,  smiling  with 
happy  tenderness. 

The  long  gallery,  hung  on  its  inner  wall  with  dark 
portraits  of  his  forbears,  was  lighted  in  three  ways: 
by  one  small  cluster  of  electric  lights  far  up  in  the 
pointed  roof;  by  a  slumberous  wood-fire;  and  by  the 
last  rays  of  a  pale  sunset  that  came  in  touched  with 
glory  through  the  ancient  stained-glass  windows.  A 
mystic,  suggestive,  poetic  light  it  was ;  and  near  the 
fire,  her  white  woollen  dress  rosy  with  its  warmth,  her 
smooth  head  touched  with  a  golden  shaft  from  the 
window  behind  her,  sat  Nancy  Gilpin  with  Teddy.  On 
her  lap  she  held  a  great  book,  and  his  arm,  not  touching 
her,  was  stretched  across  the  back  of  the  dull-green  sofa 
on  which  they  sat. 

They  were  not  looking  at  the  book,  and  they  were  not 
talking. 

Their  eyes  were  held  by  the  faint  fire,  and  they  sat 
there  in  happy  silence,  together. 

Tommy  watched  them  for  a  moment,  and  then,  turn- 
ing very  quietly,  he  crept  downstairs. 


CHAPTER  III 

WHEN  Tommy  rose  from  tucking  a  fat  red-and-black 
hassock  under  the  Duchess's  feet  he  felt  that  great  prog- 
ress had  been  made  in  his  campaign.  For  here  in  the 
old  Kingsmead  pew,  in  which  he  had  sometimes  sat  as  a 
child,  he  had  marshalled  his  forces,  and  at  one  glance 
he  saw  that  the  Green  collective  eye  was  beautifully  and 
picturesquely  wiped. 

There  they  sat  in  their  pew  opposite,  father,  mother, 
son,  and  daughter  Green,  and  with  them  their  countess 
and  their  guardsman  and  their  Jewish  Welsh  financier 
people.  Swells,  in  a  way,  all  of  them,  poor  Mrs.  Lansing 
would  have  admitted,  but  swells  in  a  small  way,  a  less 
effulgent  way  than  that  of  those  in  the  Kingsmead 
party. 

The  countess,  in  the  first  place,  was  a  plain  one,  and 
evidently  a  dull  one;  judging  from  her  angular  genu- 
flexions as  the  service  began,  also  a  High  Church  one. 
As  a  countess,  an  asset ;  as  a  member  of  a  house-party, 
tiresome. 

And  even  Tommy,  glancing  from  the  Duchess's  dan- 
cing plumes  and  brave  furs  to  the  ancient  sealskin  j  acket 
and  strange  bonnet  of  her  unconscious  rival,  realised 
that  the  merely  middle-aged  lady  opposite  was  in  some 

151 


152  KINGSMEAD 

mysterious  way  socially  years  older  than  the  really 
ancient  Duchess. 

The  Duchess  had  gone  first  into  the  pew,  because  a 
corner  and  a  cushion  had  been  two  of  the  conditions 
under  which  her  reluctant  grace  had  consented  to  come. 

Then  Mrs.  Lansing,  then  Mrs.  Gilpin,  Teddy,  Inez, 
the  guardsman,  Pam,  and  Tommy  mounting  guard  over 
his  little  flock.  Lensky  never  went  to  church,  and  the 
novelist  was  en  mal  de  composition  and  had  cried  off. 

Now  the  vicar  of  Kingsmead  was  of  the  prosy  order 
of  clerics,  and  his  voice  like  the  somnolent  buzz  of  a  large 
bee.  The  church,  heated  by  a  so-called  American  stove, 
made  in  Germany,  was  unfragrant  and  overwarm.  The 
village  choir,  so  poetic  in  verse,  is  less  soul-satisfying  in 
real  life,  and  most  of  the  parishioners  were  afflicted  with 
bad  coughs.  So  that  the  service  was  not  remarkable 
for  beauty  or  comfort.  Yet  it  may  safely  be  believed 
that  there  were  in  the  congregation  at  least  five  per- 
fectly happy  people.  Happiness  can  as  little  be  gener- 
alised about  as  other  things,  and  no  two  of  these  five 
people  were  happy  for  the  same  reason. 

Yet  in  the  mind  of  each  of  them  there  was  at  least  a 
leaven  of  the  malicious  joy  that  the  woes  of  one's  fel- 
lows are  said  to  cause  us. 

Teddy,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  bliss  of  a  certain 
look  that  Mrs.  Gilpin  had  given  him  as  he  helped  her 
out  of  the  motor,  could  not  fail  to  notice  young  Hubert 
Green's  stare  of  amazement  at  seeing  the  Duchess. 


KINGSMEAD  153 

Old  Lansing,  unselfish  in  that  he  would  far  rather 
have  spent  the  morning  at  home  but  had  come  to  gratify 
his  daughter  by  flaunting  before  their  enemy  their  great 
prize,  smiled  a  little  grimly  at  the  expression  of  old 
Green's  face. 

Inez's  whole  mind  was  full  of  the  joy  of  revenge,  and, 
very  feminine,  she  took  occasion  to  whisper  a  word  or 
two  confidingly  into  the  guardsman's  ear  at  a  moment 
when  she  knew  young  Green  was  looking  at  her.  But 
still  dearer  to  her  was  the  Green  girl's  stare  of  amaze- 
ment at  recognising  Axendale-JVIurray.  Her  guardsman 
was  an  unfledged  young  creature  with  an  imperfect  com- 
plexion and  no  moustache  at  all! 

The  Duchess  was  happy  because  her  corner  was  dark 
and  she  might  hope,  with  any  luck  at  all,  to  get  a  snatch 
of  sleep  while  that  stupid  old  parson  blundered  through 
his  work  —  and  because  Tommy  was,  she  knew,  full  of 

joy- 
As  to  Tommy,  that  scheming  nobleman  was  almost 

shivering  with  vicarious  rapture,  for  he  too  had  seen  the 
Look  at  the  churchyard  gate,  and  felt  that  his  hopes 
were  to  be  crowned  with  success.  His  feeling  of  guilt 
regarding  young  Green  had  perished  painlessly,  and  all 
the  esprit  de  corps  in  him  —  and  there  was  much  — 
was  tingling  with  joy  as  he  watched  the  rival  factions. 
The  young  lady  at  the  organ,  knowing  the  eye  of  the 
world  to  be  on  her,  played  rather  worse  than  usual, 
which  was  unnecessary;  the  children  in  the  choir  blew 


154  KINGSMEAD 

.? 

their  noses  loudly  and  at  the  most  inopportune  moments ; 
the  American  stove  glowed  like  the  eye  of  a  dethroned 
demon  and  belched  forth  gaseous  hot  air;  the  crooked 
evergreen  arch  at  the  chancel  steps  nearly,  fell  down  as 
Mr.  Knox  touched  it  with  his  shoulder  on  his  way  to  the 
pulpit. 

And  then  came  the  sermon :  the  Duchess  dropped  quite 
cosily  to  sleep,  and  everyone  settled  down  to  undisturbed 
investigations  of  his  or  her  own  personal  problems. 
Sermons  nurse  egotism.  Tommy,  whose  mind  was  now 
several  months  farther  on,  —  somewhere  about  Easter, 
arranging  a  very  simple  but  artistic  wedding,  —  caught 
Hubert  Green's  eye  and  nearly  laughed  aloud. 

For  young  Green  had  by  a  single  grimace  managed 
to  convey  to  Tommy  the  question,  "  How  on  earth  did 
they  get  them  down  ?  You  and  I  are  surprised,  are  n't 
we?  " 

"  And  as,  moreover,"  droned  Mr.  Knox,  clearing  his 
throat,  "  this  holiday  season  is  dear  to  us  all,  and  full 
of  innocent  mirth  as  well  as  of  deeper  sentiments  —  " 

"  Is  n't  he  awful? "  whispered  Madame  de  Lensky 
without  turning  her  head.  And  because  she  was  just 
his  own  age  in  that  mysterious  way  of  hers,  he  whispered 
back,  "  Rotten,  poor  old  chap ! "  and  went  back  to  his 
planning. 

At  last  the  final  Amen  was  said,  and  the  squeaky 
organ  burst  into  a  carolling,  rather  larky  recessional, 
and  at  the  church  door  the  two  factions  met. 


KINGSMEAD  155 

The  Greens  could  have  done  no  more  than  bow  and 
pass  on,  but  the  captive  Countess  pushed  her  way 
through  the  crowd  and  held  out  her  limp  hand  to  the 
Duchess,  who  with  a  very  brisk  air,  as  if  she  had  not 
been  asleep  for  hours,  was  chatting  with  Tommy. 

"  This  is  a  surprise,  Duchess !  " 

"  How  do  you  do,  Margaretta?  Yes,  is  n't  it?  What 
on  earth  are  you  doing  down  here?  " 

Lady  Chatterdale  looked  hastily  round.  "Oh,  I  am  here 
with  the  Greens,  you  know.  Algy  and  Alexandra  are  in 
Egypt,  and  —  I  'm  trying  to  get  Mr.  Green  to  contribute 
to  my  little  Convalescent  Home.  It 's  very  tiresome, 
being  here,  but  I  stay  in  my  room  most  of  the  time." 

"  How  nice  for  them,"  assented  the  Duchess  cordially. 

"  The  motor  is  here,  Lady  Chatterdale,"  called  Mr. 
Green  at  that  moment,  coming  toward  them  with  "  Duch- 
ess "  writ  large  on  his  mean  face. 

Lady  Chatterdale  looked  imploringly  at  her  old 
friend.  "  May  I?  "  she  murmured  hastily.  "  He  '11  like 
it  so  much."  And  the  Duchess  nodded,  and  shook  hands 
with  the  man  whose  bad  beer  was  a  crying  shame  but 
whose  money  was,  he  was  wont  to  declare,  as  good  as 
anybody's.  He  was  one  of  the  dreadful  vulgarians  whose 
underbreeding  expresses  itself  by  familiarity.  Com- 
pared to  him  old  Analyte  Lansing  appeared  a  model  of 
deportment.  He  called  the  Duchess  "  Duchess  "  at  once, 
asked  her  how  her  nephew,  whom  he  called  a  clever,  a 
really  quite  remarkably  clever  young  man,  was,  and 


156  KINGSMEAD 

asked  her  if  the  music  that  morning  was  not  the  worst 
she  had  ever  heard. 

And  for  Tommy's  sake  she  suffered  him  gladly. 

Meantime  Inez  had  been  talking  to  young  Green,  and 
Miss  Green,  a  pleasant-faced  girl,  who,  judging  from 
her  father,  must  have  "  taken  after  "  her  mother,  was 
chattering  with  Madame  de  Lensky.  Tommy,  the  im- 
pressario,  stood  in  the  doorway  watching  his  puppets 
dance,  and  rejoicing  that,  the  day  being  dry  and  cold, 
Nanny  had  consented  to  walk  home  through  the  firwood 
with  Teddy. 

Nanny,  in  a  quaint  grey  beaver  bonnet  and  some 
fluffy  silver-grey  fur  round  her  neck,  was  very  lovely 
that  morning,  and  it  seemed  to  Tommy  that  if  he  had 
been  a  young  woman  loved  by  the  most  enchanting  of 
wooers  his  imagination  could  demand  no  time  for  shy 
surrender  like  the  hour  of  walking  home  from  church 
on  Christmas  day. 

At  last  old  Green  released  the  Duchess  and  going  up 
to  Inez  boldly  held  out  his  hand.  He  had  refused  to  let 
his  friendly  daughter  call  at  Kingsmead,  not  only  be- 
cause the  Lansings  "  knew  nobody  "  but  also  because  old 
Lansing  despised  him  and  he  knew  it. 

Yet  now,  confronted  by  a  Duchess,  his  views  changed. 
"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Lansing  ?  "  he  said ;  "  glad  to 
see  you.  You  are  pretty  bad  about  coming  to  church 
as  a  rule,  are  n't  you?  We  always  come.  Does  the  vil- 
lagers good." 


KINGSMEAD  157 

Inez  looked  at  him  with  a  very  good  imitation  of 
haughtiness. 

"  Ah !  "  she  said.  Then  she  walked  away.  "  Come 
on,  Sir  Wilfred,"  she  said  to  her  splendid  soldier,  "  I 
don't  mind  walking,  as  you  want  to." 

The  Duchess,  who  had  taken  Tommy's  careful  arm, 
gave  it  a  little  shake.  "  Magnificent !  "  she  exclaimed ; 
"  are  you  satisfied?  " 

"  More  than.  It  was  perfect.  I  know  young  Green, 
—  did  I  tell  you  ?  —  and  I  rather  like  him.  The  girl 
looks  nice,  too,  don't  you  think?  But  the  old  man,"  he 
added  vigorously,  "  has  a  thoroughly  evil  face." 

The  old  woman,  who  had  taken  his  arm  as  she  went 
down  the  path  among  the  tombstones  to  the  motors, 
gave  a  little  laugh. 

"  You  the  charitable  saying  that  ?  " 

"  Don't  call  me  names,  Duchess.  And  you  know  it  is 
a  bad  face,  even  if  we  were  in  blessed  ignorance  about 
the  beer." 

"  If  the  beer  was  so  very  bad  they  would  n't  let  him 
sell  it,  you  know,"  she  protested,  not  because  she  ob- 
jected to  hearing  old  Green  abused,  but  because  she 
loved  to  experiment  on  Tommy. 

But  he  shook  his  head  as  she  nearly  crushed  him  to 
the  earth  by  her  weight  as  she  climbed  into  the  motor. 

"  He  keeps  within  the  limits  of  the  law,  of  course," 
he  returned  drily,  "  old  brute." 

His  small  face  was  quaintly  stern  as  he  looked  after 


158  KINGSMEAD 

the  retreating  figure  of  the  only  person  the  Duchess 
had  ever  heard  him  say  a  word  against,  and  there  was 
a  kind  of  sombre  glow  in  his  pale  eyes  that  gave  the  old 
woman  a  queer  feeling  of  being  in  the  presence  of  an 
unexpected,  unknown  person. 

Yet  she  had  known  Tommy  since  his  neglected  baby- 
hood. 

"  You  could  be  very  hard,"  she  said,  faltering  a  little. 

Oswald  Yeoland,  whom  she  had  loved,  had  never  been 
able  to  be  hard,  and  she  had  recognised  the  fault  in  his 
nature. 

Tommy  smiled  at  her.  "  I  hope  I  could,"  he  said 
simply. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  LORD  KINGSMEAD " 

"  Miss  Wantage " 

"  Tommy,  then." 

"  Hooray,  Pammy  mine !  " 

Tommy,  who  had  politely  risen  from  the  divan  on 
which,  in  the  room  that  since  it  had  ceased  being  a 
schoolroom  had  become  a  kind  of  lumber-room,  he  had 
been  lying,  smoothed  his  ruffled  hair.  In  the  middle  of 
his  smooth  head  grew  a  wild  and  uncontrollable  curl, 
stiff  like  a  small  sickle,  and  this,  when  the  rest  of  his 
hair  laid  down  obedient  to  his  master  hand,  stood  up 
doggedly. 

Pammy  eyed  it  and  laughed. 

"  Funny  lock.    Oh,  you  are  wanted." 

"By  whom?" 

The  young  girl  eyed  him  critically.  "  I  heard  the 
Duchess  suggest  to  mother  that  I  might  marry  you," 
she  returned  irrelevantly,  —  "  when  I  'm  grown  up,  of 
course." 

"  My  dear,  if  you  are  going  to  grow  any  more !" 

His  expression  made  her  laugh  again,  and  Pammy 
laughing,  with  merry  dimples  in  her  downy  crimson 
cheeks,  was  a  pleasant  sight  in  spite  of  her  vast 
proportions. 

159 


160  KINGSMEAD 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to,  either,"  she  went  on,  vague 
in  her  words  but  quite  comprehensible  to  him  as  to  her 
meaning.  "  The  Duchess  thought  Miss  Lansing  wants 
to,  but  she  's  wrong.  She  's  afraid  of  you,  Miss  Lan- 
sing is,  though  I  don't  see  why,"  amiably,  "  anyone  need 
be  afraid  of  a  dear  little  man  like  you." 

She  spoke  with  the  utmost  seriousness,  for  she  had  no 
sense  of  humour  and  was  a  curiously  literal  person. 

Tommy  ruffled  his  hair  again  and  roared. 

"Go  on,  Germania!  But  who  wants  me?  Why  am 
I  routed  thus  out  of  my  well-earned  repose?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  forgot.  Well,  it 's  this.  What  's-her- 
name,  the  lady  with  the  looking-glass  —  she  's  in  the 
gallery  and  wants  you  to  come." 

"  Where  's  Lansing?  "  blurted  Tommy,  indiscreet  in 
his  sudden  anxiety. 

"  Mr.  Teddy  has  gone  for  a  walk  with  Aunt  Brigit." 

Pammy  had  not  caught  the  significance  of  his  remark, 
which  was  lucky. 

"All  right;  will  you  tell  her  I'll  come  at  once?  I 
must  go  and  brush  my  hair." 

Pammy  nodded  and  strode  solidly  out  of  the  room, 
curiously  majestic  in  her  leisurely  movements. 

"  She  '11  be  good-looking  some  day,"  reflected  Tommy, 
as  he  crossed  the  passage  to  his  room. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  went  into  the  gallery  by  a 
small  door  that  was  almost  invisible  in  its  panelled  wall, 
and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Mrs.  Gilpin,  who 


KINGSMEAD  161 

was  sitting  in  a  big  chair  playing  with  her  little  silver 
mirror,  and  who  started  as  she  saw  him. 

"I  —  did  n't  know  there  was  a  door  there,"  she 
said. 

Tommy  said  nothing,  for  he  having  come  through  the 
door  at  that  very  moment  its  existence  was  an  obvious 
fact  that  needed  no  verification. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  me?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.     Sit  down." 

He  did  so,  but  before  she  spoke  again  she  rose  and 
going  to  the  fire  laid  another  log  on  its  diminishing 
flames. 

"  I  like  a  fire,"  she  murmured,  brushing  her  nervous 
hands  together.  Then,  sitting  down,  she  folded  them 
over  the  mirror  and  looked  placidly  at  him. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,"  she  said  in  her  gentle  voice, 
"  why  you  are  doing  all  this." 

"All  — what?" 

"  Getting  the  Duchess  and  the  rest  to  come ;  and  — 
well,  all  the  things  you  are  doing." 

He  stared,  more  surprised  than  was  reasonable.  Her 
quietness  had  never  looked  like  stupidity,  yet,  while  he 
had  more  than  wondered  that  Teddy  or  old  Mr.  Lan- 
sing had  not  noticed  his  benevolent  plottings,  it  had 
never  occurred  to  him  that  Mrs.  Gilpin's  mild  eyes 
might  be  seeing  it  all. 

"  Is  it  so  very  —  er  —  wonderful  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No.  It  is  very  kind.  I  think  you  are  very  kind. 
11 


162  KINGSMEAD 

Also,  you  are  skilful,  for  so  young  a  man.  It  has  all 
gone  remarkably  well,  you  know.'* 

"  Yes  —  it  has  gone  well.  But  —  why  do  you  think 
I  had  any  particular  reason?  It  has  been  a  pleasant 
party  —  and  the  ball  will  probably  be  a  great  success. 
You  like  dancing,  of  course." 

"  Yes." 

"Well?" 

He  was  deeply  interested,  and  leaning  forward  in  his 
chair  watched  her  with  an  almost  menacingly  clear  look 
in  his  light  eyes,  as  she  twisted  her  little  mirror,  sending 
flashes  of  light  into  his  face. 

She  was,  or  had  seemed,  such  a  pre-eminently  passive 
person ;  so  much  a  beautiful  tool  to  be  handled  —  most 
reverently,  but  still  handled  —  by  him  for  Teddy's  good. 
And  now  here  was  the  tool  asking  him  questions.  It  was 
strangely,  vastly  interesting. 

"  I  like  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lansing,"  he  began  in  a  hesitat- 
ing way,  as  she  did  not  speak ;  "  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Her  eyes  met  his  unwaveringly.  "  Yes,  I 
like  them  very  much,  and  I  am  sorry  for  them.  Inez  I 
do  not  like.  Neither  do  you.  Neither  does  your  sister. 
But  we  are  all  sorry  for  her,  because  she  is  so  very  un- 
attractive. I  understand  your  wanting  to  help  them 
all  because  you  are  so  kind.  I  think,"  she  ended,  lean- 
ing toward  him  a  little  and  smiling  at  him  with  gentle 
radiance,  "  that  you  are  very  good." 

Tommy  flushed  helplessly.    With  a  few  words,  uttered 


KINGSMEAD  163 

in  all  sweetness,  she  suddenly  brought  him  face  to  face 
with  what  seemed  to  him  at  that  moment  his  appalling, 
his  raw  youthfulness. 

She  was  a  widow ;  she  was  seven-and-twenty ;  she  had 
lived  and  loved  and  lost ;  and  he  had  been,  in  his  absurd 
arrogance,  trying  to  help  and  protect  her,  to  smooth 
her  path! 

And  all  the  time  she  had  evidently  been  regarding 
him  as  a  well-meaning  child. 

For  a  moment  he  seemed  to  have  lost  his  foot- 
ing and  to  flounder  helplessly,  wondering  if  he  really 
were  a  child.  Then,  gradually,  there  came  back  to 
him  the  reverent  superiority  so  often  felt  by  the 
man  not  in  love  for  the  blissful  babes-in-the  woods  who 
are. 

"Are  you  laughing  at  me?  "  he  asked ;  adding  hastily, 
"  No,  I  know  you  are  n't.  But  you  think  me  a  meddle- 
some youth  bent  on  controlling  the  temperatures  of 
other  people's  pie  with  his  green  finger ! " 

She  shook  her  head  seriously. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  What  I  mean  to  ask 
you  is  this:  are  you  trying  to  make  a  match  between 
—  Teddy  and  me  ?  "  She  spoke  with  a  visible  effort,  as 
though  it  cost  her  something  to  put  into  words  a  ques- 
tion her  conscience  obliged  her  to  ask. 

Tommy  rose. 

"  Good  heavens,"  he  cried,  "  you  make  me  feel  an 
utter  brute!" 


164  KINGSMEAD 

"  Ah  no,  Lord  Kingsmead.  But  —  I  wanted  to  ask 
you  —  that  was  all." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  ask  me?  Now  you 
make  me  feel,  all  of  a  sudden,  like  an  old  grey-headed 
wiseacre." 

The  fire,  clasping  the  new  log  in  its  little  red  ten- 
tacles, flashed  up  as  it  caught  a  great  rough  piece  of 
loose  bark,  and  danced  gaily  in  her  mirror,  which  she 
was  still  twisting  nervously. 

"  Only  this.  It  is  best  to  speak  plainly.  Do  you 
think  it  —  wise  for  a  young  man  to  marry  a  woman 
who  —  who  is  a  widow  ?  He  is  so  young,  you  see, 
younger  than  you  in  some  ways " 

This  was  true,  but  it  was  astounding  to  Tommy  that 
she  should  know  it. 

"  Yes  ?  "  he  said,  as  she  paused. 

"  And  —  I  am  nearly  four  years  older  than  he.  And 
I  have  been  —  sorrowful.  Sometimes  I  think,"  she  went 
on  firmly,  "  that  he  should  marry  some  —  something  as 
young  as  himself." 

Tommy,  now  quite  at  home  in  his  new  role,  shook  his 
head  gravely. 

"  Dear  Mignonette  Lady,  —  that  is  my  name  for  you, 
I  hope  you  don't  mind?  —  no  man  is  ever  too  young  or 
too  —  I  don't  know  how  to  express  it,  but  I  quite  under- 
stand what  you  mean,  —  for  a  woman  of  your  age.  And 
if  —  if  —  you  care  for  him,  as  I  hope " 

"  Yes  ?    As  you  hope  ?  " 


KINGSMEAD  165 

She  rose  and  going  to  the  fire  put  her  small  grey-shod 
foot  on  the  fender  and  stood  with  her  face  turned  away 
from  him.  She  looked  so  young,  so  perturbed,  so  lonely, 
that  every  chivalrous  fibre,  and  there  were  many,  in  the 
young  man  vibrated  almost  painfully. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  if  you  love  him  as 
he  loves  you,  he  is  the  most  —  b-blest  man  in  the  world." 

As  he  finished,  a  firm,  clear  footfall  came  ringing  up 
the  stairs,  and  Mrs.  Gilpin  turned. 

Tears  were  on  her  cheeks,  and  Tommy,  tearing  open 
the  little  door  in  the  panelling,  hurried  her  through  and 
closed  it  before  Pammy  appeared. 

"  Mother  wants  you  —  "  began  the  young  girl,  add- 
ing, frankly  curious:  "Why,  where 's  Mrs.  Gilpin?  " 


CHAPTER  V 

TEDDY'S  wooing  was  a  slow  one,  somewhat  to  Tommy's 
surprise.  Tommy  himself  would,  he  knew,  have  been 
quite  capable  of  deliberately  lengthening  the  delicious 
hour  before  dawn,  as  the  state  of  mutual  undeclared  love 
appeared  to  his  sentimental  mind,  for  it  was  obviously 
a  state  of  exquisitely  delicate  bliss  probably  never  to 
be  recaptured. 

But  young  Lansing  was  in  spite  of  his  beauty  a  prac- 
tical youth,  a  youth  of  quiet  grip  with  circumstance  and 
of  determined  bending  of  that  circumstance  to  his  hand, 
so  that  his  thralled  hesitation  now  surprised  his  friend. 

All  through  Christmas  week  Tommy  and  his  now 
deeply  interested  Duchess  kept  watch  and  ward  over  the 
lovers,  lest  they  should  be  awakened  from  their  dream. 

Tommy,  suggesting  to  them  before  everybody  a  walk, 
would  start  off  with  them,  desert  them  on  some  cheer- 
fully transparent  pretext,  and  an  hour  later  pounce 
discreetly  on  them  as  they  made  their  way  homeward, 
so  that  none  but  the  Duchess  ever  suspected  their  tete- 
a-tete.  The  old  lady,  too,  who  was  past  master  in  the 
art  of  feigning  sleep,  sometimes  asked  the  Mignonette 
Lady,  as  she,  adopting  Tommy's  nickname,  called  Mrs. 
Gilpin,  to  come  to  her  sitting-room. 

166 


KINGSMEAD  167 

"  I  need  rest,"  she  would  say,  "  for  I  am  an  ancient 
old  lady,  but  you,  Mignonette,  are  small  and  quiet. 
Come  and  sing  to  me." 

Then  she,  sitting  in  a  comfortable  chair  by  the  fire 
in  her  sitting-room,  would  listen  for  a  few  minutes  to 
the  young  woman's  delightful  voice,  and  then,  quietly, 
but  with  an  evident  air  of  starting  from  a  prolonged 
dream,  would  drop  her  head  against  her  pillow  and  close 
her  eyes. 

And  twice  it  happened  that  Teddy,  sent  to  the  room 
by  Tommy  on  some  ingeniously  contrived  errand,  would 
enter,  in  answer  to  a  hushed  "  come  in,"  to  find  his  lady 
almost  better  than  alone,  as,  her  guitar  still  in  her  lap, 
a  finger  to  her  lips,  she  whispered,  "  She  was  very  tired, 
dear  old  lady." 

That  the  Duchess  deliberately  eavesdropped  cannot 
be  denied,  but  the  hopeful  reader  may  assume  that  in 
case  of  any  real  love-making  she  would  have  waked  up. 

For,  as  she  told  Tommy,  they  did  n't  make  love  at  all. 

"  She  is  such  a  silent  person ;  she  sits  quite  motion- 
less, her  hands  folded,  looking  into  the  fire  for  the  most 
part  (I  can  see  through  closed  eyelids),  and  he  looks 
at  her.  They  talk  very  little  for  fear  of  waking  this 
dear  old  lady,  but  he  looks  at  her,  and  very  beautiful 
he  is  with  his  heart  in  his  eyes." 

Tommy  nodded.  "  Splendid !  He  never  was  really  in 
love  before,  you  see,  and  she  is  marvellously  romantic. 
I  could  never  fall  in  love  with  a  muddy-footed  cigarette- 


168  KINGSMEAD 

smoking,  rough-headed  girl,  either.  Women  ought  to 
be  small  and  delicate  and  restful." 

"  You  are  a  Turk  in  your  soul,  Master  Tommy !  " 

But  he  shook  his  head  gravely.  "  Not  I.  But  you 
see,  I  know  Teddy  pretty  well,  and  I  —  I  am  glad  he  has 
had  the  sense  to  fall  in  love  with  her." 

"  H'm !  Well  —  he  is  a  deliberate  lover.  Yesterday 
he  asked  her  for  a  sprig  of  the  mignonette  she  wore  at 
her  waistband." 

"  Ah !  Did  she  give  it  to  him  ?  "  Much  excitement 
was  in  Tommy's  face  as  he  put  the  question. 

"  Yes.  Without  a  word  — -  with  her  eyelashes  hiding 
her  eyes." 

But  this  very  small  episode  was  the  only  one,  in  con- 
nection with  Teddy  and  Mrs.  Gilpin,  that  broke  the 
pleasant  monotony  of  Christmas  week. 

The  house-party  was  a  great  success,  and  Inez  had 
the  gratification  not  only  of  being  out  when  the  Greens 
called,  but  also  of  being  able  to  refuse  their  invitation 
to  dine  because  Admiral  Lord  Albert  Hardcastle,  a 
cousin  of  the  Duchess,  had  come  down  to  pass  the  night 
and  say  good-bye  to  his  old  relative  before  sailing  for 
distant  waters  somewhere. 

"  Cheek  of  them  to  ask  us,  after  all  this  time,"  Miss 
Lansing  observed  to  Tommy,  looking  up  from  the  note 
she  was  writing  for  her  mother. 

"  But  you  wanted  to  know  them,"  he  answered  inno- 
cently. 


KINGSMEAD  169 

She  laughed.  "  Yes  —  faute  de  mieux.  But  now, 
thanks  to  you  and  the  dear  old  Duchess,  we  don't  need 
them.  I  know  I  'm  a  snob,  Lord  Kingsmead,  but  I  was 
dreadfully  lonely  —  and  after  all  I  am  far  better  edu- 
cated than  most  of  the  girls  around  here." 

"  I  'm  sure  of  that,"  he  agreed  eagerly,  for  this  was 
true. 

"  And  as  to  father  and  mother  —  I  was  wrong  about 
them,  but  that  was  because  education  can't  supply  — 
breeding.  I  mean  the  fact  of  my  having  a  good  educa- 
tion does  n't  make  me  well  bred  inside.  You  think  I 
don't  know,  but  I  do !  Now,  again,  thanks  to  you,  I  see 
that  —  well,  you  know  what  I  mean." 

He  nodded. 

"  Yes.  Your  father  and  mother  are  so  kind  and  so 
unaffected,  as  well  as  clever,  that  people  like  'em.  Now 
Green  is  a  brute.  I  can't  understand  anyone  receiving 
him.  Personally,  I  should  n't,  but  that 's  because  he 
grinds  down  his  workpeople  and  because  his  beer  is  poi- 
sonous filth.  Whereas  your  father  —  ah,  Miss  Lansing, 
think  of  his  having  to  have  a  secretary  just  to  answer 
the  letters  that  came  to  him  to  wish  him  a  happy 
Christmas !  " 

This  story  had  come  out  on  the  unexpected  introduc- 
tion by  old  Lansing  to  his  guests  of  a  pallid,  spectacled 
youth  with  moist  hands  and  a  nervous  trick  of  sniffing, 
as  "  my  secretary."  Investigation  as  to  this  appari- 
tion's field  of  usefulness  proved  quite  fruitless  until  the 


170  KINGSMEAD 

young  man  himself  confided  to  Madame  de  Lensky  that 
he  had  that  morning  written  sixteen  letters  of  thanks, 
in  answer  to  almost  illegible  communications  addressed 
to  his  employer  on  the  glorious  occasion  of  Christmas. 

"  I  am  really  very  tired,"  added  Mr.  Holiday  plain- 
tively. 

"  You  must  be.  How  very  nice  of  him  to  answer 
them  all." 

"  Yes.  He  signs  each  one.  They  are  not  begging 
letters.  These,  he  tells  me,  are  attended  to  by  his 
nephew,  Oliver  Smith,  at  the  works.  And  it  is,  to  me, 
very  curious  that  the  letters  are  written,  so  to  say,  from 
an  equal.  I  mean  to  say,  they  all  call  him  *  Dear  Henry  ' 
—  or  most  of  them  —  and  they  seem  not  to  realise  the 
difference  that  his  money  makes." 

"  Old  friends,"  suggested  Pam ;  "  and  he  is  too  nice 
to  outgrow  old  friends  just  because  he  has  made  a  big 
fortune.  He  is  a  dear  old  man.  I  do  so  like  him.  Only 
I  think,"  she  added,  "  that  he  would  be  annoyed  if  he 
knew  you  told." 

"  I  will  not  tell  anyone." 

Mr.  Holiday,  whose  gladsome  name  accorded  so  ill 
with  his  world-weary  aspect,  put  his  thumbs  out  of  joint 
several  times  in  rapid  succession,  as  if  the  dampness  of 
his  hands  had  softened  his  bones  and  made  that  peculiar 
gymnastic  exercise  easy  to  him. 

"  Quite  right,  quite  right,  Mrs.  Lensky,"  he  mur- 
mured, feeling  somehow  that  it  would  be  taking  a  liberty 


KINGSMEAD  171 

to  call  her  "  Madame,"  "  but  I  —  it  seemed  all  right  to 
tell  you." 

The  secret,  nevertheless,  got  out,  as  secrets  will,  and 
old  Lansing,  when  taxed  with  it  by  his  son,  nodded 
shyly. 

"  Yes,  yes.  They  are  my  men,  and  my  women.  They 
are  n't  afraid  of  me,  you  see,  for  it  is  n't  so  long  since 
I  was  one  of  'em  myself.  And  a  letter  means  an  effort 
to  'em,  too." 

He  was,  these  days,  blossoming  like  a  rose  in  the 
desert,  for  there  was  in  him  not  a  vestige  of  real  vulgar- 
ity, and  the  wise  Duchess  and  the  kind  Pam  knew  just 
how  to  treat  him.  He  told  little  stories  sometimes, 
funny  stories,  all  strictly  proper,  and  his  laugh  had 
become  very  frequent. 

Still,  he  was  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  apparition,  regret- 
ful of  his  social  deficiencies  as  his  wife  never  was  of 
hers,  although  she  too  quite  recognised  them. 

Somewhat  to  Tommy's  surprise,  Brigit  and  the  old 
man  really  liked  each  other.  That  Pam  the  democratic 
should  enjoy  him  astonished  no  one,  but  Lady  Ponte- 
fract's  indifferent  kindness  rarely  melted,  her  brother 
knew,  to  anything  warmer.  Yet,  possibly  because  old 
Analyte's  admiration  of  her  beauty  was  so  evident, 
though  always  scrupulously  unexpressed,  the  great 
lady  again  and  again  went  out  of  her  way  to  be  polite 
to  her  official  host,  and  talked  to  him  with  an  appearance 
of  deep  interest  that  meant,  her  friends  knew,  real  liking. 


17S  KINGSMEAD 

Mrs.  Lansing,  for  her  part,  was  backed  and  braced 
by  the  Duchess's  love  of  colour,  giving  full  play  to  her 
taste  for  the  gorgeous  in  the  matter  of  dress. 

On  Christmas  night  she  appeared  at  dinner  clad  in 
yellow  velvet  embroidered  in  gold,  in  which  she  gave 
one  the  impression  of  being  a  heathen  altar  of  some 
kind. 

Another  day  she  boldly  huddled  together  all  sorts  of 
colours,  so  that  Tommy  told  his  sister,  later,  she  looked 
as  if  she  had  been  struck  by  a  rainbow ! 

It  may  be  seen,  therefore,  that  Kingsmead  was  filled, 
that  year,  with  very  happy  Christmas  folk. 

Inez  was  followed  closely  by  her  shadow  the  guards- 
man, who  one  day  proved  his  fundamental  ignorance 
of  human  nature  by  confiding  to  Tommy  that,  having 
a  perfectly  appalling  lot  of  debts,  and  the  girl  being 
really  not  so  bad,  he  hardly  saw  how  he  could  do 
better. 

Tommy's  answer  to  this  ill-placed  confidence  had  been 
a  frankly  contemptuous  stare  and  a  prompt  withdrawal 
from  the  smoking-room,  where  it  had  taken  place. 

Jack  Lensky  and  his  wife,  usually  together,  walked 
a  great  deal,  although  he,  fastidious  to  the  marrow, 
hated  mud  and  wet.  The  children  greatly  enj  oyed  them- 
selves, and,  petted  by  Mrs.  Lansing,  grew  rosy  and 
round-cheeked  in  the  change  from  fog  to  real  live  air, 
as  young  Thaddy  put  it;  and  Pammy,  deep  in  an  at- 
tack of  adoration  for  Mrs.  Gilpin,  fell,  in  his  efforts  to 


KINGSMEAD  173 

keep  her  away  from  the  object  of  her  worship,  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  day,  to  Tommy's  share. 

All  these  people  seemed  to  Tommy  much  like  the 
arabesques  in  the  border  of  an  old  missal;  they  were 
bright  and  vivid  in  their  way,  and  pleasant  to  see  — 
ornamental.  But  their  usefulness  was  limited  to  that 
one  idea:  they  were  ornaments  to  Teddy  and  the 
Mignonette  Lady.  He  and  she,  painted  with  exquisite 
care,  were  the  real  picture,  the  story;  the  rest  com- 
posed a  mere  border. 

Thus  the  Christmas  week  sped  with  pleasant,  deliber- 
ate haste,  and  New  Year's  eve  arrived,  the  night  of  the 
ball  —  a  clear,  cold,  starry  night  it  was,  as  if  the  old 
Year  wished  to  leave  behind  him  an  agreeable  memory. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JUST  before  dinner,  Tommy,  who  had  had  a  weary  after- 
noon with  Pammy,  who  had  been  unusually  indefatigable 
in  her  pursuit  of  her  idol,  Mrs.  Gilpin,  went  downstairs 
to  look  for  a  letter  that  he  had  left  in  the  great  hall. 
The  vast  room  had  been  cleaned,  and  the  housemaids  had 
apparently  just  left  it,  for  the  lights  were  turned  out, 
all  but  one,  and  in  the  window-niches  stood  huge  vases 
filled  with  strong-scented,  giant  crimson  roses.  It  was 
in  its  beautiful  simplicity  one  of  those  rooms  that  want 
no  decorations,  and  the  one  fault  in  it,  a  row  of  ugly 
Georgian  pillars  upholding  a  gallery  of  the  same  period, 
had,  since  Tommy  had  gone  out  of  the  place  after  tea, 
been  made  into  a  really  lovely  bower  of  smilax  and  ferns. 

Thick  garlands  of  smilax  hid  the  pillars,  and  the 
gallery  itself,  an  excrescence  due  to  the  bad  taste  of  one 
of  Tommy's  forbears,  was  apparently  transformed  into 
a  bower  of  delicate  pale  green  ferns.  Tommy's  artistic 
eye  at  once  claimed  this  bower  for  Teddy  and  his  fair. 

"  What  could  be  nicer  for  them,"  he  thought,  stand- 
ing, a  rather  pathetically  small  figure,  alone  in  the  midst 
of  the  vast  polished  floor,  "  than  to  run  away  from  the 
dancers  and  sit  up  there  among  the  greenery  —  hearing 
the  waltzes,  but  seeing  only  each  other?  "  His  hands 

174 


KINGSMEAD  175 

in  his  trousers  pockets,  he  frowned  intently.  "  If  I  can 
just  quietly  bag  the  key,"  he  thought,  "  I  '11  give  it  to 
old  Lanner." 

Just  then  he  started,  for,  looking  down  at  him  through 
the  delicate  breastwork  of  foliage,  he  saw  Mrs.  Gilpin 
herself,  as  if  she  were  a  creature  of  his  brain  appearing 
obediently  at  his  thought. 

"  How  did  you  get  up  there?  "  he  asked. 

"  Walked,"  she  answered  him  in  all  seriousness ;  "  the 
door  was  open.  It  is  lovely  —  come  and  see." 

He  ran  up  the  narrow  stair  that  opened  in  the  panel- 
ling, and  a  moment  later  stood  by  her  in  the  lovely  place. 

Above  them  the  mysterious  darkness  of  the  ancient 
panelled  ceiling,  all  about  them  the  quivering  vaporous 
greenness  of  the  maidenhair.  And  —  there  were  only 
two  chairs,  and  on  the  floor,  close  to  the  ferns,  four 
vases  of  the  fragrant  roses.  For  one  wild  moment 
Tommy  felt  in  his  amazing  sensing  of  the  situation 
that  he  could  for  the  moment  himself  be  Teddy,  and 
ask,  in  the  character  of  his  friend,  Nancy  Gilpin  to 
marry  him. 

"  Is  n't  it  lovely?  "  she  asked  slowly,  sitting  down. 

"  Heavenly."  But  Tommy  wished  that  Teddy  were 
there  in  his  stead;  it  was  so  clearly  a  case  of  the  time 
and  the  place  without  the  loved  one. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  alone,"  said  Mrs.  Gilpin,  pass- 
ing her  hand  lightly  over  a  spray  of  fern  that  leaned 
toward  her. 


176  KINGSMEAD 

"Are  you?    Why?" 

"  Because  Pammy  interrupted  us  before,  and  I  had  n't 
finished.  Do  you  really  think,"  she  went  on  with  a  firm 
resumption  of  the  week-old  subject  that  surprised  him, 
"  that  it  does  n't  matter  my  having  loved  another  man  ? 
Because,"  she  added  with  an  odd  little  shudder,  "  I  did 
love  him." 

She  looked  very  young  in  the  pale  light,  in  her  white 
frock,  and  he  saw  that  one  wing  of  her  smooth  hair  was 
a  little  ruffled,  as  if  she  had  been  sitting  with  her  head 
in  her  hand. 

"  I  think,"  he  returned  gravely,  in  a  kind  of  passion 
of  adoration  for  her,  "  that  you  are  wonderful.  And 
—  I  am  glad  that  you  loved  him." 

Her  blue  eyes  met  his  steadily.  "  If  —  if  it  were  you," 
she  asked,  "  would  you  feel  that  way  ?  Things  are  so 
different  when  one  judges  for  someone  else." 

But  Tommy,  with  the  freedom  given  him  by 
his  deep  affection  for  Teddy,  laughed.  "  No,  no. 
I  am  perfectly  sure.  If  it  were  I,  I  should  be  sin- 
cerely glad  that  you  had  loved  your  husband. 
Only  I  should  want  you  to  love  me  as  much,  you 
know." 

She  continued  to  look  at  him  with  her  peculiarly  clear 
gaze,  but  she  did  not  speak,  and  after  a  moment  he  con- 
tinued :  "  And  —  as  you  are  so  frank  with  me,  you  will 
not  mind  my  asking  you  —  if  you  can  love  Teddy  as 
much  as  you  did  —  him  ?  " 


KINGSMEAD  177 

"  I  adored  him.  I  was  very  young.  I  was  only  seven- 
teen, but  I  adored  him." 

"  How  long  ago,"  he  asked,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
arm  of  her  chair  in  a  kind  of  reverent  caress,  "  did  — 
you  lose  him?  " 

"  Five  years  ago." 

"  Oh,  you  poor  little  thing !  You  were  only  two-and- 
twenty  ?  How  —  awful !  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  awful.  Very  awful.  I  —  I  nearly  died," 
she  added  in  an  undertone,  but  still  looking  keenly  at 
him,  though  a  faint  colour  came  to  her  cheeks. 

Ah,  if  it  had  only  been  Teddy  to  whom  she  was  telling 
her  simple,  piteous  tale!  Tommy  was  very  white  with 
sympathy,  and  laid  his  hand  on  hers  as  she  finished 
speaking. 

"  Teddy  told  me  —  he  was  killed  in  India " 

"  Yes  —  in  what  they  call  a  border  skirmish.  We 
women  who  lose  our  husbands  in  them  call  them  — 
battles." 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

To  think  that  she  in  her  exaggerated  delicacy  could 
think  that  this  story  of  her  first  love  could  in  any  way 
hurt  or  wrong  Teddy ! 

"Mignonette  Lady  —  you  don't  mind?" 

"  No,"  she  assured  him  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  think  Teddy,  as  I  told  you,  greatly  blest.  And 
you  see  I  do  know  what  you  mean  —  if  Teddy  were  of 
the  small  type  of  man  who  is  suspectingly  jealous  — 
12 


178  KINGSMEAD 

even  then,  I  think,  he  would  regret  your  first  marriage 
only  for  you,  because  you  suffered  through  it.     Because 

—  you  have  through  your  long  mourning  lived  such  a 

—  a  cloistered  life  —  that  —  yes,  that  is  the  right  word, 
cloistered  —  you  seem  to  have  regained  —  girlhood." 

Pie  spoke  slowly,  in  broken  phrases,  not  because  he 
was  embarrassed,  but  because  he  wished  to  find  the  ex- 
act words  to  express  his  very  definite  thought. 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Thank  you,  Lord  Kingsmead,"  she  said,  with  her 
grave  simplicity  that  he  so  admired. 

Then  with  another  pause,  after  which  he  asked,  and 
this  time,  in  spite  of  his  temperamental  curiosity,  his 
question  was  put  with  a  view  to  solacing  her  rather 
than  of  gratifying  himself,  "  Could  you  —  tell  me  about 
him?" 

She  nodded.  "Yes.  He  was  —  older  than  I.  So 
much  older  that  most  people  thought  it  must  have  been 
his  money.  But  it  was  n't.  He  was  gentle  to  me,  though 
they  said  he  was  hard  and  fierce  with  others." 

"  With  his  men  —  I  mean  the  men  under  him?  " 

"  Yes.  He  —  he  loved  me.  Ah  yes,  he  loved  me.  But 
—  I  had  to  lose  him.  I  used  to  think  there  was  no  God." 

Tommy  sat  with  bent  head.  It  was  very  sacred  to 
him,  this  story. 

"  When  he  went  away  afterward  —  I  used  to  cry  and 
beat  my  hands  on  the  floor.  I  was  nearly  mad.  Then  I 
was  ill." 


KINGSMEAD  179 

"  What  was  his  Christian  name  ? "  asked  Tommy 
suddenly. 

She  stared.  "  William.  I  used  to  call  him  Bill.  It 's 
not  a  beautiful  name,  but  I  loved  it." 

"  There  was  a  Godfrey  Gilpin  whose  portrait  I  once 
saw  in  London  at  some  exhibition,  —  I  think  Shannon 
did  it,  —  a  fair  man  in  full  regimentals " 

"  No.  I  have  been  asked  that  before.  He  was  a 
Gunner.  He  was  n't  one  of  the  Warwickshire  Gilpins." 

Tommy  nodded.  "  Where  were  you  when  —  it  hap- 
pened? "  he  asked. 

"  At  Udaipur.  I  had  just  come.  We  had  been  in  the 
south  for  some  time,  and  I  was  to  go  to  the  hills  —  not 
being  very  strong.  It  was  an  '  insignificant '  battle,  I 
believe,"  she  added,  without  bitterness ;  "  you  '11  see  it 
in  the  papers  of  the  time  as  *  a  slight  skirmish  in  which 
two  officers  and  eight  men  were  killed.' ' 

The  horror  of  war  overcame  Tommy  and  made  him 
almost  sick  for  a  moment,  as  he  watched  the  poor  little 
victim  of  the  insignificant  battle  tell  her  story  —  the 
horror  of  men  killing  each  other;  the  horror  of  greed; 
the  horror  of  savagery. 

And  yet  he  was  made  of  fighting  stuff,  little  Kings- 
mead,  and  in  case  of  war  would  have  been,  such  was  his 
blood  and  his  breeding,  one  of  the  first  to  volunteer. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Gilpin,"  he  said,  after  another  long 
silence,  rising,  "  we  must  go  and  dress.  It  is  half-past 
seven.  But  —  I  thank  you  for  —  trusting  me,  and  I 


180  KINGSMEAD 

hope,  oh,  with  all  my  heart,  that  you  —  that  you  do  — 
do  love  Teddy." 

"  I  told  you  all  that  because  —  I  wanted  advice.    And 

—  you  think  it  not  unfair  to  marry  again  after  —  such 
a  story?  " 

Her  exaggerated  delicacy  appealed  to  him,  although 
it  seemed  to  him  slightly  absurd. 

*'  I  think  it  would  be  wrong  to  marry  if  you  —  if  you 
could  not  love,"  he  began,  but  she  interrupted  him  with 
an  unexpected  fierceness. 

"  Love?  Ay,  that  I  can.  And  I  do.  I  think  only  a 
few  women  in  the  world  can,  but  I  am  one  of  them.  It 

—  it  hurts  me,  it  is  so  intense." 

Gathering  up  her  long  skirts  she  stood  by  the  door 
looking  past  him  with  narrowed,  intense  eyes. 

"  Then,"  returned  Tommy,  old-fashionedly,  as  she 
started  downstairs,  "  God  bless  you  both." 


CHAPTER  VII 

LIKE  a  parent  giving  a  bean-feast  for  his  children 
Tommy  wandered  about  the  house  looking  to  see  that 
everything  went  well.  The  responsibility ,  in  itself  a  j  oy 
to  him,  yet  lay  rather  heavily  on  his  shoulders,  for  if 
this  ball  should  prove  a  dull  one,  then  should  he  be  in- 
deed but  a  bungling  impressario,  deserving  of  instant 
dismissal;  and  the  knowledge  that  no  matter  how  hide- 
ously he  might  fail,  the  household  affection  assured  him 
a  continuance  of  his  incompetency  but  made  things 
worse. 

Even  Lord  and  Lady  Leatherhead,  "  the  Marquis  and 
Marchioness,"  had  come,  and  were  at  present,  having 
watched  the  dancing  for  a  few  benign  moments,  playing 
bridge  in  the  drawing-room  with  the  Duchess  and  a 
friend  whom  they  had  brought  with  them,  one  Major 
Portrush. 

Tommy  had  placed  a  screen  between  the  Marchioness' 
back  and  the  fire,  and  provided  a  footstool  for  the 
Duchess ;  after  which  he  had  left  the  room,  closing  the 
door  to  insure  the  illustrious  party  the  quiet  required 
for  their  brain-exhausting  game. 

Then  he  went  to  the  ballroom,  as  the  hall  was  called. 
Perfection  apparently  reigned  there.  The  tenth  dance 

181 


182  KINGSMEAD 

was  in  full  swing,  and  as  he  watched  he  saw  Inez  swing- 
ing by  with  young  Green,  Sir  Wilfred  with  a  martyred 
air  piloting  about  a  local  young  lady  of  heavy  build, 
and  Mrs.  Gilpin  and  Lensky. 

Where,  then,  was  Teddy? 

Tommy  skirted  the  wall,  brushing  the  green-draped 
pillars,  narrowly  escaping  annihilation  as  Pammy  and 
her  partner,  the  depressed  Mr.  Holiday,  galloped  by, 
and  at  last  found,  near  the  smoking-room  door,  a  worn 
and  bored-looking  Teddy,  talking  to  the  second  Miss 
Morland,  the  local  doctor's  daughter. 

"  I    say,    Teddy  —  excuse    me    one    moment  — 
Tommy  drew  his  friend  aside,  pressing  something  angu- 
lar and  cold  into  his  hand.    "  Here  's  the  key  to  the  little 
gallery.     Get  Mrs.   Gilpin  up  there  —  now  introduce 
me  to  that  girl " 

"  Miss  Morland,  Lord  Kingsmead  wishes  to  be  intro- 
duced to  you."  Teddy,  radiantly  smiling,  the  key  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  disappeared  in  the  crowd,  and  Tommy 
broke  into  animated  conversation  with  the  second  Miss 
Morland,  who  squinted,  but  who,  he  observed  with  his 
rather  unusual  quickness  at  seeing  the  good  points  of 
his  acquaintances,  was  blessed  with  a  delightful  little 
Greek  nose. 

Miss  Morland  the  second  adored  waltzing  (although 
Tommy,  when  they  tried  it,  wondered  why),  and  she 
loved  dancing  with  the  young  man  in  the  shadow  of 
whose  house,  so  to  speak,  she  had  grown  up. 


KINGSMEAD  183 

They  pounded  genially  round  the  room  two  or  three 
times,  and  then  Tommy  took  her  to  the  buffet  and  ad- 
ministered to  her,  with  anxious  intent  of  consolation, 
iced  coffee  in  a  tall  glass. 

"  Jolly  ball,"  she  observed. 

He  nodded.  "  Very.  Good  house  for  a  ball,  rather 
—  as  I  may  now,  alas,  say  without  boasting." 

The  second  Miss  Morland  was  a  little  frightened. 

"  Yes  —  it  seems  such  a  pity "  she  began,  and  then 

helplessly  broke  off,  licking  her  spoon. 

"  Oh  no,  not  a  pity.  The  Lansings,  you  see,  love  it. 
And  if  I  had  kept  it  it  would  have  had  to  j  ust  die  —  a 
natural  death,  so  to  speak,  with  no  doctoring  to  keep  it 
alive." 

"  I  see.     Miss  Lansing  is  a  lovely  girl,  is  n't  she?  " 

Tommy  glanced  quickly  at  her,  but  she  was  sincere, 
he  saw,  as  he  followed  her  eyes  to  where  Inez,  slimmer 
than  usual,  clad  in  pink  satin,  was  talking  to  young 
Green. 

"  She  would  be  an  excellent  match  for  —  Bertie 
Green,"  went  on  the  second  Miss  Morland  with  an  abys- 
mal sigh. 

"  Green !  Oh,  I  say,  Miss  Morland !  Their  fathers 
are  n't  friends  at  ah1,  and  they  hardly  know  each  other." 

"  Don't  they!  "  Her  air  was  that  of  one  initiated 
into  social  secrets  above  the  ken  of  her  companion.  For 
the  moment  she  forgot  his  earldom,  and  beheld  him  as 
a  mere  stranger. 


184  KINGSMEAD 

"  They  used  to  dance  together  in  London.  He  is  very 
intimate  with  the  Lord  Mayor's  family.  And  someone 
told  me  he  admired  her  very  much." 

"  Bless  us  and  save  us !  " 

"  Yes.    7*  n't  Tie  handsome?  " 

Tommy,  who  saw  no  beauty  in  young  Green,  was 
saved  answering  by  the  solitary  arrival  of  an  elderly 
maiden,  who,  driven  from  her  original  lair  in  a  corner 
of  the  ballroom  by  the  thong  of  hunger,  had  defied  the 
ever-ready  criticism  of  a  country  ballroom  to  forage  for 
herself. 

And  Tommy  ached  for  her  as  he  observed  her  hesitat-  . 
ing  manner  and  slightly  trembling  voice.  "  How  do  you 
do,  Miss  Marble?  "  he  said,  shaking  hands  with  her  very 
warmly.  "  How  strange  that  I  should  n't  have  seen 
you  before !  Very  crowded,  though  —  that  is,  fairly  so. 
Let  me  get  you  some  champagne.  How  is  Mrs.  Marble  ? 
How  well  I  remember  your  giving  me  plums  when  I  was 
a  kid!  And  is  Miss  Edith  here  too?  " 

It  was  a  God-sent  gift,  this  of  remembering  faces  and 
names,  and  the  little  young  man's  way  of  going  straight 
to  the  point  and  not  allowing  embarrassed  people  time 
to  answer  him  until  they  had  time  to  recover  themselves, 
was  as  surely  a  real  gift.  Poor  Miss  Marble,  old  and 
disregarded,  flushed  with  pleasure,  and  till  the  end  of 
her  days  she  will  talk  of  the  ball  at  Kingsmead  with 
proud  delight. 

When,  after  giving  them  food  and  drink,  Tommy 


KINGSMEAD  185 

convoyed  his  charges  back  to  the  ballroom  and  found 
them  two  chairs,  he  excused  himself  with  a  busy  air,  and 
went  back  to  the  drawing-room.  Things  were  all  right 
there. 

Besides  the  Duchess's  table  there  were  now  two  others, 
at  which  played  the  De  Lenskys,  Brigit,  the  vicar,  Mr. 
Green,  and  three  people  whom  Tommy  did  not  know. 

In  a  corner,  her  green  leather  board  on  her  crimson 
velvet  lap,  Mrs.  Lansing  was  busy  with  a  game  of 
patience. 

Leaving  the  room  unobtrusively,  after  a  word  with  his 
hostess,  Tommy  went  upstairs,  and  going  down  a  long 
passage  opened  the  door  into  the  gallery. 

Here,  too,  things  could  not  have  been  improved  upon, 
for  all  the  window-niches  but  one  were  occupied  by 
couples,  men  and  maidens  gazing  down,  as  they  talked, 
at  the  dancers  they  had  quitted. 

The  lower  parts  of  the  stained-glass  panes  had,  for 
purposes  of  ventilation,  long  ago  been  removed  from 
their  cases  and  swung  on  central  pivots,  so  that  they 
must,  pushed  outward  as  they  then  were,  have  looked 
from  below  like  dazzling  bannerets  hung  sideways. 

Going  to  the  one  vacant  window-niche,  Tommy 
glanced  down  at  the  whirling  couples  below  and  then, 
rapidly,  toward  the  little  gallery. 

It  was  empty. 

Tommy  was  conscious  of  a  positive  pang  of  disap- 
pointment. His  efforts,  then,  had  been  in  vain.  He  had 


186  KINGSMEAD 

locked  the  door  and  given  the  key  to  Teddy,  and  Teddy 
had  not  made  use  of  his  beautiful  opportunity.  Why? 

The  whole  universe  seemed  for  a  moment  a  great 
question-mark,  and  then,  with  an  impatient  patience,  the 
young  man  turned  away,  and  went  to  find  the  recreant. 
As  he  went  back  down  the  corridor  he  passed  the  door 
of  the  Duchess's  sitting-room,  and  from  it  came  the 
sound  of  voices. 

"  Oh,  charming,  no  doubt,"  a  man  was  saying,  not 
quite  pleasantly.  "  And  of  course  a  guardsman  is  a 
guardsman  —  no  one  ever  doubted  that !  " 

Tommy  did  not  recognise  this  voice,  but  it  was  Inez's 
that  answered  with  an  affected  laugh,  "  A  hard  thing 
to  doubt,  rather,  wouldn't  it  be?  And  another  would 
be  that  he  dances  far  better  than  anyone  else  here.  It 's 
really  too  delicious " 

Tommy,  naturally,  did  not  pause,  but  as  he  hurried 
past  the  man  returned,  rery  angrily  now,  "  Then  it  is  a 
great  pity  to  be  wasting  your  time  here.  Shall  we  go 
down?  " 

It  was  evidently  a  quarrel,  and  Tommy  involuntarily 
wondered  who  the  man  could  be. 

As  he  reached  the  short  flight  of  steps  leading  to  the 
front  stairs  the  door  behind  him  closed  with  a  bang,  and 
he  heard  Inez  say  again  with  the  detestable,  unreal  laugh 
that  he  hated,  "  You  really  are  in  a  bad  temper 
to-night." 

Hurrying  on,  Tommy  succeeded  in  gaining  the  lower 


KINGSMEAD  187 

floor  without  learning  who  her  companion  was,  but  it 
struck  him,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  annoyance  with 
Teddy,  as  an  incomprehensible  thing  that  the  to  him  so 
fundamentally  unattractive  Inez  could  have  found  a 
man  to  torment. 

.  "  None  of  my  business  who  it  is,"  he  told  himself, 
"  but  it  is  a  queer  thing."  He  had  reached  the  ballroom, 
and  at  that  very  moment  something  happened  that  put 
the  incident  violently  out  of  his  mind.  He  had  just  met 
Mrs.  Gilpin,  who  had  been  dancing,  and  who  turned 
from  her  partner  to  him  with  evident  relief. 

They  were  standing  chatting  and  he  was  about  to 
ask  her  what  had  become  of  Teddy,  when  with  a  quick 
change  of  expression  she  touched  his  arm. 

"  Look,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  door.  Three  men 
stood  there,  their  hats  on  their  heads,  their  faces  white 
and  menacing.  No  one  spoke  to  them,  but  while  the 
unseeing  orchestra  played  on,  the  dancing  suddenly 
ceased,  and  the  dancers,  drawing  back  from  the  new- 
comers, formed  a  solid  phalanx,  facing  them,  as  if  they, 
the  four  roughly  clad  men,  were  actors  about  to  begin 
their  scene. 

There  was  a  deep  silence,  and  then  one  of  the  men,  the 
smallest,  the  fiercest,  cried  hoarsely,  to  no  one,  or  to 
every  one,  "  Where  's  'Enry  Lansing?  " 

As  he  spoke,  old  Lansing,  who  had  been  in  the 
smoking-room,  made  his  way  through  the  crowd. 

"  Julius,"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the  matter?  " 


188  KINGSMEAD 

The  small  fierce  man  stood  looking  at  him. 

"  This  is  what 's  the  matter,  'Enry  Lansing,"  he  said 
slowly :  "  while  you  're  'ere  amusing  yourself  there  's 
ben  an  explosion  at  the  works  and  fifteen  souls  is  lulled. 
Two  of  'em,"  he  added,  "  were  my  wife  —  and  Joe,  'ere, 
'is  son.  That 's  all." 

Old  Lansing's  face  turned  a  curious  grey  colour. 

"  Julius !  "  he  cried,  and  Tommy  stepped  quietly  to 
him  and  took  his  arm. 

"  Yes.    While  you  're  amusing  yourself " 

"  God  damn  you,"  cried  Lansing,  "  stop  that,  d'  you 
'ear?  Stop  the  music,  somebody,  and  —  go  home,  all 
of  you.  I  —  I  will  come,  men." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

KINGSMEAD  knew  that  he  would  never  forget  that  night- 
ride  to  the  town,  nearly  two  hundred  miles  away,  where 
stood  the  famous  Analyte  Works.  He  and  Mr.  Lan- 
sing left  the  house  just  before  half-past  eleven,  in 
Teddy's  big  Mercedes  car. 

The  bearers  of  the  bad  tidings  had  been  given  food 
and  drink  and  taken  to  the  station,  where  in  an  hour's 
time  a  slow  cross-country  train  would  bear  them  to  the 
scene  of  the  disaster ;  but  Lansing  told  them,  tears  run- 
ning down  his  suddenly  old  cheeks,  that  he  could  not 
wait.  "  You  '11  understand,  Julius,  and  you,  Joe  Evans," 
he  said,  taking  a  hand  of  each  of  the  afflicted  men. 
"  They  were  a-working  for  me,  they  were  my  friends, 
and  —  I  must  'urry." 

The  men  nodded.  They  had  come  unreasoningly,  all 
but  one  of  them  dully  and  uncomplainingly,  like  children 
coming  to  a  parent.  And  the  one  exception,  the  man 
Martin,  a  badly  balanced,  ignorant  turner-over  of  half- 
understood  grievances,  suggested  to  him  by  socialistic 
writings,  had  come  to  accuse  the  rich  man  of  being  rich 
in  the  poor  man's  hour  of  tragedy.  Yet  even  he  had 
been  set  right  by  old  Lansing's  distress. 

He  was  dazed  and  silent  now  that  his  frenzy  of  anger 

189 


190  KINGSMEAD 

had  died  under  Lansing's  distress ;  and  he  and  his  com- 
panions sat  in  the  smoking-room  among  the  tables,  on 
which  still  stood  several  siphons  and  brandy  and  whisky 
bottles,  and  where  on  a  low  chair  Tommy  found  and  put 
into  his  pocket  a  frivolous  long  white  glove  forgotten 
by  its  owner. 

The  dreadful  tawdriness  that  even  the  most  innocent 
scene  of  revelry  wears  when  grim  tragedy  has  stepped 
into  it  seemed  to  blemish  the  room,  and  Tommy  quietly 
moved  the  chairs  back  into  their  places  and  put  the 
dissipated-looking  siphons  and  bottles  together  on  a 
table  in  a  far  corner. 

The  story  was  told  in  a  few  words.  The  foreman  of 
the  place  had  offered  extra  pay  for  extra  work  that 
evening,  to  meet  some  large  order,  and  something, 
Tommy  could  not  quite  grasp  what,  or  how,  had  ex- 
ploded, killing  fifteen  people,  three  of  whom  were  women. 

And  Julius  Martin,  always  a  rebellious,  jealous- 
hearted  man,  had,  against  the  wishes  of  his  comrades, 
insisted  on  coming  himself  to  tell  his  employer  the  bad 
news. 

Joe  Evans,  a  gentler  spirit,  his  brother-in-law,  had 
come  with  him,  chiefly  to  try  to  quiet  the  man's  furious 
state  of  nerves,  and  the  two  other  men  had  come,  Tommy 
gathered,  more  for  the  ghastly  fun  of  the  thing  than 
for  any  other  reason. 

Confronted  by  Lansing's  grief,  however,  these  two 
were  disappointed,  for  his  misery,  so  personal,  so  far 


KINGSMEAD  191 

removed  from  mere  sympathy,  was  so  strong  and  com- 
pelling an  emotion  that  even  Martin  was  awed,  and  for- 
got his  bitterness  and  jealousy  in  watching  it. 

"  My  men,  working  for  me,  God  'elp  me !  "  Lansing 
said,  over  and  over,  as  they  waited  for  the  motors  to 
come  round.  Outside,  on  the  half-frozen  gravel  of  the 
courtyard,  carriages  and  motors  hurried  up  amid  a  con- 
fusion of  voices  to  take  away  the  guests  so  rudely  dis- 
missed by  their  host. 

Tommy,  when  the  four  men  were  safely  shut  in  the 
smoking-room,  and  Martin's  wrath  had  melted  into  mere 
human  misery,  returned  to  the  ballroom  and  found  every- 
one on  the  point  of  leaving. 

Mrs.  Lansing,  Madame  de  Lensky  told  him,  was  cry- 
ing herself  to  a  jelly  in  the  drawing-room,  her  tears 
blotching  and  ruining  the  two  new  packs  of  patience- 
cards  initiated  that  evening  in  honour  of  the  occasion; 
Teddy  stood  talking  to  Mrs.  Gilpin,  whose  face  was 
whiter  than  Tommy  had  ever  seen  a  face;  and  Inez, 
looking  very  shocked  and  troubled,  was  with  the  Duchess 
saying  good-bye  to  the  guests. 

The  Marquis  and  Marchioness,  kindly,  simple  people, 
returned,  when  their  carriage  had  come,  to  the  drawing- 
room  to  say  a  last  word  of  sympathy  to  the  Duchess, 
and  Tommy  saw  that  it  was  as  he  had  expected. 

Not  one  of  the  guests  had  taken  in  bad  part  old  Lan- 
sing's outburst  and  dismissal.  People  are  kind,  after  all, 
to  misfortune.  The  Duchess,  old  as  she  was,  her  white 


192  KINGSMEAD 

wig  askew,  her  ancient  face  haggard,  was  worth  gold 
in  the  emergency,  for  even  the  small  people  went  away 
cheered  by  a  ducal  word,  thus  assuring  to  the  ill-fated 
ball  an  at  least  pleasant  envoi. 

Away  they  went,  then,  the  revellers,  in  motors,  car- 
riages, and  flys.  And  before  they  had  all  gone,  while 
yet  some  twenty  were  huddled  in  their  cloaks  awaiting 
further  conveyances,  the  big  whirring  roar  of  the  Mer- 
cedes was  heard,  and  Tommy  put  on  his  coat. 

"  Tell  Teddy  to  go  to  his  mother,  will  you,  dear  ?  " 
Lady  Pontefract  came  out  of  the  drawing-room  as  he 
passed  it.  "  She  is  dreadfully  upset,  and  he  may  be  able 
to  quiet  her." 

Teddy,  obedient  to  a  hurried  word  from  his  friend, 
left  Mrs.  Gilpin,  with  whom  he  was  still  standing,  and 
hurried  to  his  mother. 

"  Go  to  bed,  Mrs.  Gilpin,"  suggested  Tommy,  "  you 
look  dead.  I  am  just  off  —  with  Mr.  Lansing." 

"  Poor  old  man !  "  she  returned.  "  Those  men  were 
dreadful" 

"  Yes.  They,  or  rather  the  one,  was  not  polite.  But 
never  mind  that.  Try  to  sleep;  and  remember,"  he 
added  with  the  ghost  of  a  whimsical  smile,  "  that  every 
morning  you  read  in  some  paper  of  far  worse  accidents, 
and  go  on  eating  your  eggs  and  bacon.  This  was  just 
brought  —  unpleasantly  near  to  you." 

She  looked  at  him  vaguely.  "  Yes,  of  course,"  she 
added,  and  he  knew  that  she  had  not  been  listening. 
"  When  will  you  get  there?  " 


KINGSMEAD  193 

"  I  don't  know  —  early  to-morrow  morning,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  But  —  why  do  you  go?  " 

"  Why?  To  see  Mr.  Lansing  through.  Besides, 
there  are  many  wounded  people,  and  some  one  must  see 
about  nurses,  etc." 

Her  bright  blue  eyes  changed.  "Ah  yes,  nurses — 
she  began,  but  he  had  hurried  on,  for  old  Lansing  and 
the  four  men  were  coming  toward  him.  And  Tommy,  to 
avoid  the  people  who  still  stood  at  the  front  door,  took 
them  all  five,  quite  unresisting,  out  at  a  small  door  near 
the  billiard-room. 

The  motor  that  was  to  take  the  four  men  to  the  sta- 
tion, ten  miles  away,  at  which  they  could  get  a  train 
stood  in  front  of  the  other,  and  Tommy,  going  to 
the  chauffeur,  told  him  to  go  back  to  pick  up  his 
cargo. 

When  the  machine  had  backed  away  from  the  con- 
fused group  of  motors  and  carriages  struggling  to 
get  to  the  front  door,  Tommy  spoke  to  the  French 
chauffeur. 

"  Mr.  Lansing  and  I  will  join  you  opposite  the  carp- 
pond,"  he  said ;  "  he  does  n't  want  to  say  good-bye  to 
anyone." 

The  man  nodded.  "  Blen,  milord,"  he  said,  and 
Tommy  turned  back. 

"  I  am  coming  with  you,  Mr.  Lansing,"  he  said  to 
the  old  man,  whom  he  found  alone,  watching  his  work- 
13 


194  KINGSMEAD 

men  as  their  motor  started  off.  "  Teddy  is  with  Mrs. 
Lansing. " 

**  Yes,  yes,  my  lad ;  thank  you.  Teddy  would  not  do. 
Blood  sickens  him,  and  we  shall  'ave  to  face  lots  of 
blood." 

Tommy  took  his  arm  and  led  him  unresistingly  back 
into  the  billiard-room,  upstairs,  through  the  gallery 
and  the  long  passage,  and  then  down  the  back  staircase 
through  the  kitchen,  which  was  empty  save  for  a  pretty 
scullery-maid  being  made  love  to  by  the  odd  man. 

"  Jacquart  is  waiting  for  us  near  the  carp-pond ;  let 's 
hurry." 

Old  Lansing  nodded.  .**  Yes,  yes.  Let  *s  'urry.  They 
were  my  people,  working  for  me.  I  used  to  do  the  same 
work,  not  so  long  ago.  A-a-h !  n 

His  long,  gasping  moan  was  so  full  of  pain  that  quick 
tears  came  to  Tommy's  eyes. 

"  Have  you  a  warm  coat  on?  n  the  young  man  asked. 

"  Ay.  My  coat  is  lined  with  fur.  I  am  warm  and 

comfortable,  whereas  they "  It  was  that  most  rare 

thing  —  an  almost  anarchistic  sentiment  expressed  by  a 
prosperous  man.  If  he  had  been  poor  and  cold  and 
someone  else  wearing  his  handsome  coat,  his  tone  could 
not  have  been  more  bitter;  and  Tommy  realised  the 
thoroughness  of  character  that  had  brought  this  un- 
educated man  untouched  through  success. 

Ahead  of  them,  in  the  moon-shadow  of  a  large  tree, 
stood  the  big  motor,  waiting.  Off  to  the  right,  in  the 


KINGSMEAD  195 

pale  moonlight  the  old  carp-pond  glittered  faintly ;  and 
the  sound  of  horses'  feet  and  motors  filled  the  cold  air. 

Tommy  helped  Mr.  Lansing  into  the  tonneau  and  got 
in  after  him.  Then,  as  he  wrapped  a  big  fur  rug  round 
the  old  man,  who  sat  quite  passive,  his  brows  pulled 
down  over  his  eyes,  Tommy  started. 

Someone  —  a  mere  shapeless  bundle  of  fur  —  sat  by 
the  chauffeur.  As  the  motor  sped  down  the  avenue  the 
bundle  turned. 

"  You  must  n't  mind  my  coming/*  Mrs.  Gilpin  said ; 
"  you  will  need  a  woman,  and  I  am  not  afraid." 

"  But  —  it  is  an  awful  j  ourney ,  and  —  there  will  be 
dreadful  things  to  see,"  faltered  Tommy,  appalled. 
"  Please  go  back." 

"  Xo.  I  do  not  fear  dreadful  sights,"  she  returned 
quietly.  "  I  had  n't  time  to  change,  but  I  have  a  dress 
in  my  dressing-case.  Please  don't  fuss." 

"  But  —  there  will  be  plenty  of  people  to  help  —  it 
is  a  big  village  —  and  you  are  so  —  so " 

"  Be  quiet,"  growled  old  Lansing  in  a  surly  voice. 
"  Let  her  come :  it  won't  hurt  her.  She  is  right.  Why 
should  she  be  spared  any  more  than  them  as  work?  " 


CHAPTER    IX 

LOOKING  back  on  that  unforgettable  night  journey, 
Tommy's  mind  always  paints  for  him  a  long  light  stripe 
through  blackness ;  a  moving  circle  of  red  light,  dark 
bare  trees  and  hedgerows ;  a  pale  moon  shedding  paler 
light ;  and  ahead  of  him,  outlined  against  the  red  light, 
Nancy  Gilpin's  little  form  shapeless  in  her  furs,  all  but 
her  head,  which,  in  its  well-pinned-down  motor-cap,  was 
curiously  distinct  and  characteristic. 

Twice  Tommy  fell  asleep,  once  to  be  awakened  by  loud 
talking,  to  find  Jacquart  the  chauffeur  angrily  demand- 
ing of  a  drowsy  man  in  a  cottage  window  which  turning 
he  must  take  to  get  to  the  next  town  on  his  map. 

The  next  time  he  awoke  the  moon  had  gone  and  a 
strange  pallor  in  the  sky  meant  dawn. 

Lansing  apparently  had  not  stirred  from  the  attitude 
he  had  taken  on  getting  into  the  car,  and  Mrs.  Gilpin's 
small  head  was  as  erect  as  ever. 

"  I  have  been  asleep,"  announced  Tommy,  moving  his 
cramped  legs. 

Lansing  nodded.  "  Yes.  That  yonder  is  —  the  town. 
On  the  'orizon." 

The  motor  sped  on,  climbing  low  hills  without  falter- 
ing, dashing  down  them  at  breakneck  speed,  continuing 

196 


KINGSMEAD  197 

all  the  time  its  low  murmur  as  if  it  were  talking  to  itself 
to  keep  up  its  courage  as  it  tore  on  and  on  through  the 
night. 

And  then,  at  last,  the  town:  an  ugly,  grimy,  manu- 
facturing town  that  would  have  been  a  village  but  for 
its  factories.  The  hideous  brick  chimneys  standing 
against  the  paling  sky  looked  like  giants'  ringers  point- 
ing accusingly  at  the  God  who  allowed  them  to  exist. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  the  New  Year,  and  the  town 
was  silent  as  the  travellers  reached  their  goal. 

And  fifteen  human  souls  who  yesterday,  at  the  same 
hour,  had  gone  to  their  work  looking  forward  to  a  long 
rest  to-day,  lay  dead. 

Tommy  shuddered.  He  was  very  tired,  and  he  was 
also  hungry,  though  he  did  not  know  it. 

It  was  half-past  four  when  the  motor  rushed  in  be- 
tween huge  black  gates  at  the  far  side  of  the  town  and 
drew  up  with  a  j  erk  at  a  low  flight  of  steps  on  both  sides 
of  which  stretched  a  long  line  of  lighted  windows. 

Lansing  got  out,  and  quite  disregarding  his  compan- 
ions, went  into  the  building. 

Tommy  crawled  from  the  encumbering  rugs  and 
wraps,  and  going  to  the  front  seat  of  the  motor  took  the 
rug  off  Mrs.  Gilpin. 

"  I  am  quite  stiff,"  she  said,  trying  to  rise. 

"  Let  me  help  you." 

*'  Attendez,  milord,  je  vais  descendre  madame." 

Jacquart  the  surly  jumped  down  from  his  place,  but 


198  KINGSMEAD 

before  he  could  come  round  to  the  steps  she  had  risen, 
and  placing  one  hand  on  the  seat,  the  other  on  Tommy's 
shoulder,  sprang  lightly  out.  "  I  can't  bear  to  be 
touched  by  strange  people,"  she  whispered  as  they  went 
up  the  steps. 

The  bare  corridor  was  empty,  but  a  light  at  the  head 
of  another  flight  of  steps  led  them  to  a  room  from  behind 
the  closed  door  of  which  came  voices. 

"  You  had  better  wait,"  Tommy  suggested.  "  Sit 
down  and  I  '11  go  in  and  see." 

He  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

The  room  was  a  large  one,  and  its  use  was  evidently 
that  of  a  kind  of  office,  for  there  was  a  big  desk  and  a 
safe  in  it.  In  its  squalid  cleanliness  burned  a  double 
gas-j  et,  and  behind  a  small  group  of  people  at  its  farther 
end  Tommy  saw  five  or  six  mattresses  on  the  floor. 

One  of  the  men  standing  near  them  turned  as  the  door 
opened,  and  Tommy  saw  that  he  must  be  a  doctor  —  a 
worn,  harassed  face  with  an  authoritative  look  on  it. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked  sharply.  "  That 
door  should  have  been  locked.  If  you  are  a  reporter 
you  may  —  go." 

"  I  am  not  a  reporter.  I  came  with  Mr.  Lansing.  My 
name  is  Kingsmead,  and  I  want  to  be  of  use  —  if 
possible." 

The  other  man's  face  cleared. 

"  Afraid  of  —  ugly  sights  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No." 


KINGSMEAD  199 

'  Then  —  move  out  of  the  way,  Mrs.  Jenkins,  please, 

and '  to  Tommy  again  — "  help  me  dress  this 

burn,  will  you  ?  " 

Tommy,  taking  off  his  coat,  knelt  by  the  boy  on  the 
end  mattress. 

"  It 's  an  ugly  business,  as  you  can  see  —  give  me 
that  cup  of  oil,  will  you?  —  don't  bother,  he's  quite 
unconscious " 

The  other  people  in  the  group  were  two  work-worn 
elderly  men  and  a  half-fainting  girl  with  beautiful 
curly  red  hair  that  looked  flauntingly,  cruelly  out  of 
place  in  the  sad  room. 

"  Those  two  at  the  end  are  dead,"  observed  the  doctor. 
"  These  are  their  people." 

Suddenly  a  man  left  the  group  and  kneeling  by  one 
of  the  mattresses  began  to  sob  hoarsely. 

It  was  very  painful. 

"  Take  your  girl  away,  Jacob,"  said  the  doctor,  ris- 
ing, after  laying  on  the  raw  chest  of  his  patient  a  thin 
layer  of  oil-soaked  cotton-wool ;  "  she  '11  faint  in  a  mo- 
ment." He  spoke  roughly  and  without  looking  up,  but 
Tommy  knew  that  he  was  exhausted  with  hours  of  har- 
assing work,  and  was  sorry  for  him. 

"  Thanks,  Mr.  —  I  've  forgotten  your  name.  That 's 
all  I  can  do  here;  will  you  come  with  me  to  the  next 
room?  These,"  he  added  as  they  went  out  into  the  pas- 
sage and  turned  to  the  left,  "  are  the  ones  who  were  too 
bad  to  move.  Four,  as  you  saw,  are  already  dead.  The 
other  one  will  probably  die." 


200  KINGSMEAD 

"  And  —  the  dead  ones  ?  I  mean  those  who  were 
killed  outright  —  Martin's  wife  and  Evans's  son  ?  " 

The  doctor  glanced  at  him.  "  Taken  home  —  what 
could  be  found.  They  were  pretty  well  blown  to  bits  — 
hello,  who  is  this  ?  "  He  had  opened  a  door  as  he  spoke, 
and  they  stood  on  the  threshold  looking  at  a  curious 
scene. 

In  a  small  room,  one  side  of  which  was  completely 
taken  up  by  a  large  iron  furnace,  lay  another  of  the 
piteous,  shabby  mattresses  hastily  brought,  Tommy 
knew,  from  the  nearest  houses ;  and  on  the  mattress  lay 
a  naked  child,  while  beside  it,  the  crude  gaslight  glaring 
full  on  her  white-and-silver  evening  frock,  knelt  Nancy 
Gilpin,  busily  engaged  in  pouring,  from  a  broken  blue- 
and-white  tea-cup,  oil  on  the  poor  little  creature's  raw 
chest. 

By  her  lay  a  roll  of  cotton-wool,  and  something  in 
her  way  of  supporting  the  faintly  groaning  boy  with 
her  left  arm  while  her  right  hand  let  the  healing  oil  roll 
over  the  dreadful  hurt,  caused  Tommy,  as  well  as  the 
doctor,  to  wonder. 

"  The  woman  who  was  looking  after  him  got  sick  and 
had  to  go,"  Mrs.  Gilpin  declared  quietly ;  "  she  would 
have  fainted  if  she  had  stayed.  Would  you  mind  holding 
his  head?" 

Kneeling,  the  doctor  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  the  young 
woman,  deftly  preparing  a  thin  layer  of  oil-soaked 
wool,  laid  it  on  the  child's  chest. 


KINGSMEAD  201 

"  It 's  a  bad  burn,"  she  remarked  critically,  "  but  I 
think  he  '11  pull  through.  Where  can  I  find  a  shawl  or 
something  for  him  ?  His  clothes  are  ruined " 

"  Would  you,"  asked  the  doctor,  addressing  Tommy, 
"  mind  going  downstairs,  to  the  first  door  to  your  right, 
and  asking  Mrs.  Golightly  to  give  you  some  covers  ?  " 

Tommy  obeyed,  finding  Mrs  Golightly  without  any 
trouble  and  obtaining  from  her  an  old  green  plaid  shawl, 
which  he  brought  back  without  wasting  any  time  in 
words. 

As  he  opened  the  upstairs  door  again,  he  heard  Mrs. 
Gilpin  say  carelessly,  in  apparent  answer  to  a  question 
from  the  doctor,  "  No,  thanks,  I  'm  not  at  all  tired  —  I 
used  to  be  a  nurse  —  Bart's." 

Then,  as  Tommy  handed  the  doctor  the  shawl,  she 
looked  up  and  met  his  astonished  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated  with  a  faint  smile,  "  I  really  did, 
but  I  never  told  you." 

It  was  a  strange  scene,  and  her  beauty,  delicate  and 
elusive,  had  never  before  seemed  to  him  so  exquisite  as 
they  went  together  from  squalid  room  to  squalid  room, 
each  of  them  doing  the  best  they  could  to  alleviate  the 
awful  suffering  they  found  at  every  turning. 

The  worn-out  doctor,  glad  of  quiet,  competent  help, 
led  them  even  to  the  great  hall  where  the  accident  had 
taken  place,  and  it  was  a  very  solemn  and  dreadful 
sight. 

The  dead  and  wounded  had  been  removed,  but  the  wet 


202  KINGSMEAD 

floor  was  still  covered  with  blood  and  fragments  of 
stuff,  and  the  walls  spattered  and  blotched  in  a  hor- 
rible way.  Tommy  shuddered  and  his  chin  shook 
convulsively. 

His  was  a  high-strung  nature  and  he  suffered  rudely 
that  night,  but  his  courage  was  good,  and  he  as  well 
as  the  others  worked  unceasingly  until  broad  day  stared 
in  at  the  great  dingy  windows. 

Mrs.  Gilpin,  still  in  her  ball-gown  but  with  some 
working  woman's  crude  red  shawl  now  wrapped  about 
her,  was  'of  varied  and  great  assistance  to  the  doctor. 

At  last,  as  the  factory  clock  struck  seven,  the  doctor 
rose  from  where  he  had  been  kneeling  by  a  dying  man, 
surrounded  by  the  man's  family,  and  looked  at  her. 

"  We  will  now,"  he  said,  "  go  to  my  house  and  have 
breakfast.  Ah !  "  Crossing  the  room  to  the  window  in 
two  strides,  he  put  his  arm  round  Tommy  and  slid  him 
gently  to  the  floor. 

Tommy  had  fainted. 


CHAPTER  X 

DR.  COLE  lived  in  a  small  house  on  the  top  of  the  gentle 
eminence  that,  lying  to  the  north  of  the  sluggish  river 
that  ran  through  the  town,  was  called  the  Hill,  and 
which  was  where  the  few  gentry  of  the  busy  place  had 
their  dwellings. 

As  he  was  a  bachelor  the  doctor's  old  sister  kept 
house  for  him,  and  very  well  she  did  it,  too. 

Even  there  on  the  Hill  a  constant  war  with  blacks 
and  dust  had  to  be  waged,  for  the  town  was  direfully 
dirty,  and  the  house  of  Admiral  Kennedy  himself,  he  of 
five  house-servants  and  a  carriage  and  pair,  looked  a 
little  dingy.  Whereas  Miss  Martha  Cole's  white  paint 
was  as  white,  her  chintzes  as  fresh  as  if  the  little  house 
—  Laurel  Lodge  was  its  poetic  name  —  had  been  buried 
in  the  green  depths  of  Devon. 

So  Tommy,  poor  exhausted  small  Tommy,  when  his 
faint  was  over,  opened  his  eyes  in  a  lovely  little  bower 
of  a  room  all  pink  roses  and  white  varnished  furniture, 
and  saw  bending  over  him  a  little  old  lady  with  white 
hair  and  the  whitest  cap  ever  seen  out  of  a  fairy  tale. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  cried  Tommy  rather  loudly,  for 
fear  of  speaking  weakly.  "  I  am  awfully  ashamed  — 
where  am  I,  please  ?  " 

203 


204  KINGSMEAD 

Miss  Martha  patted  him. 

"  You  are  at  Dr.  Cole's,  and  you  fainted  at  the  Ana- 
lyte  Works,  —  after  being  a  perfect  little  hero,  George 
said,  —  so  we  brought  you  here.  And  the  lady  is  having 
breakfast,  and  you  shall  have  yours  at  once,  now  that 
you  're  all  right." 

Tommy  sat  up.  They  had  put  him  to  bed,  and  he 
found  to  his  amusement  that  he  had  on,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  an  old-fashioned  nightshirt  with  narrow 
red  braid  as  trimming.  "  You  are  very  good  to  me  — 
Mrs.  Cole?  " 

"Miss,"  corrected  Miss  Martha  composedly.  "Mother 
died  long  before  you  were  born,  my  dear." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  was  a  rather  exhausting 
night,"  he  explained,  "  and  I  am  a  wretchedly  delicate 
little  brute,  after  all." 

He  sighed,  for  he  was  greatly  disappointed  in  him- 
self. Only  a  fortnight  before  he  had  pranced,  he  re- 
flected, proudly  along  the  road  to  Brigit's,  boasting  to 
himself  that  he  was  well  and  strong  and  could  do  the 
things  that  other  young  men  could;  and  here  he  was 
going  off  in  a  dead  faint  like  a  silly  little  ass,  and  being 
a  perfect  nuisance  instead  of  the  help  he  so  longed  to  be. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Gilpin?  "  he  asked  after  a  pause. 

"  She  has  gone  out  —  with  my  brother.  The  nurses 
have  come,  but  George  says  she  is  worth  a  dozen  of  them. 
Now  if  you  '11  just  lie  still,  Mr  —  the  lady  forgot  to  tell 
me  your  name " 


KINGSMEAD  205 

Tommy  explained,  greatly  pleased  that  Nanny  had 
forgotten,  and  the  good  lady  continued :  "  I  will  bring 
you  a  nice  bowl  of  soup  and  some  toast,  and  then  you 
must  try  to  get  a  sleep." 

But  Tommy  had  no  mind  to  waste  time  in  trying  to 
sleep,  so  when  his  kind  hostess  had  left  him  he  darted 
across  the  passage,  wrapped  in  a  blanket,  took  a  bath, 
and  when  she  returned,  was  nearly  dressed  and  stood 
by  the  fire  trying  to  smooth  down  the  rebellious  curl  on 
his  crown,  that  seemed  that  morning  to  be  particularly 
devilish,  as  he  said  to  himself  in  Italian,  in  which  the 
word  is  musically  so  successful  that  it  sounds  rather  like 
a  term  of  endearment. 

Miss  Martha  Cole  had  had  orders  from  her  brother 
regarding  her  guest,  but  she  was  an  intelligent  old 
woman  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  Tommy  meant  to  have 
his  own  way. 

"  Very  well,"  she  agreed  promptly,  "  if  you  must  you 
must.  Only  it  is  a  bitterly  cold  morning  and  you  are 
pretty  well  tired  out,  and  you  must  at  least  drink  your 

soup  like  a  good  —  like  a "  she  blushed  prettily  at 

her  own  slip,  but  Tommy  smiled  at  her. 

"  Like  a  good  boy?  Very  well,  I  will.  It  looks  very 
good  indeed,  with  the  sprig  of  smilax  in  it." 

"Smilax?  It's  parsley,"  cried  Miss  Martha,  de- 
lighted, and  she  continued  to  smile  while  the  young 
,  man  swallowed  the  soup  and  ate  a  bit  of  toast. 

"  You  '11  find  the  houses  of  the  poor  things  the  far 


206  KINGSMEAD 

side  of  the  factory.  You  go  down  the  hill,  and  turn 
to  your  left,  —  you  can't  mistake  the  High  Street  — 
and  then  at  Bellingham  Avenue  you  turn  to  your  right 
and  go  straight  on.  It 's  about  a  mile  from  here.  My 
brother  and  Mr.  Lansing  are  going  from  house  to  house 
—  it  is  all  dreadfully  sad.  Henry  Lansing  is  a  good 
man,  and  he  has  never  gone  away  from  his  own  kind." 

Tommy  flushed.  This  phrase  filled  him  with  a  real 
happiness,  for  it  so  exactly  expressed  old  Lansing. 
That  was  what  it  meant,  the  old  man's  bad  English,  his 
social  blunders,  what  his  son,  truly  loving  him,  called 
his  social  impossibility.  He  had  not  grown  away  from 
his  own  kind. 

And  Tommy  saw  behind  the  discomforts  and  small 
annoyances  involved  by  the  old  man's  faithfulness  its 
great  and  simple  beauty. 

He  had  made  a  large  fortune.  He  could,  had  his 
motives  been  other,  have  long  since  made  himself  into 
a  more  or  less  successful  "  gentleman  "  in  the  shallow 
sense  of  the  word ;  but  he  had,  Tommy  now  understood, 
not  done  it  because  he  had  not  chosen  to.  He,  the  work- 
ing man,  had  not  chosen  to  grow  away  from  his  own 
kind. 

Therefore  the  old  man's  harmless  vulgarity,  his  in- 
offensive lack  of  manner,  became  at  once  in  the  eyes  of 
the  little  gentleman  who  had  always  liked  him,  and  now 
nearly  loved  him,  not  a  weakness,  but  a  strength. 

It  was  such  an  illuminating  phrase,  that  of  the  little 


KINGSMEAD  207 

old  lady,  it  settled  so  many  things  in  such  a  beautiful 
way,  that  Tommy  would  have  liked  to  put  his  delighted 
arms  round  Miss  Cole  and  hug  her. 

Not  that  he  had  needed  enlightening  regarding  Lan- 
sing. No,  he  with  his  sensitive  antennae  had  at  once 
realised  the  old  man.  But  Miss  Cole  had  put  into  his 
hand  a  beautiful  weapon  against  those  who  scoffed  at 
Lansing ;  she  had  writ  across  the  heavens  in  large  and 
glorious  letters  an  explanation  of  the  man's  being  that 
it  seemed  to  Tommy  no  one  could  refuse  to  accept. 

"  He  has  never  grown  from  his  own  kind ! " 

Tommy's  crooked  smile  held  Miss  Cole's  attention  by 
sheer  force  of  the  happiness  it  expressed. 

"  You  —  I  am  so  glad  you  're  better,"  she  murmured, 
incoherently,  not  at  all  knowing  why  she  felt  as  she  did, 
or  why  she  so  greatly  liked  the  boy. 

"  So  am  I.  And  —  I  can't  tell  you  how  grateful  I 
am  to  you.  Oh,"  he  added,  bursting  out  laughing,  "  not 
only  for  the  soup  —  but  —  well  —  I  can't  explain.  I 
just  —  so  I  —  liked  what  you  said  about  Mr.  Lansing." 

"  I  've  forgotten  what  I  said,"  she  answered  frankly, 
her  candid  young  eyes,  so  sweet  in  her  old  face,  fixed  on 
his,  "  but  he  is  a  fine  man." 

A  few  minutes  later  Tommy  was  on  his  way  down  the 
hill,  a  h'ttle  shaky  on  his  legs,  but  greatly  uplifted  in 
spirit,  as  if  he  had  just  been  listening  to  fine  music. 

And  it  was  well  that  he  was  thus  caught  up  in  the 
clouds,  for  sad  sights  awaited  him. 


208  KINGSMEAD 

The  crowds  of  excited  people  in  the  street  showed 
him  without  words  which  way  he  was  to  go,  and  when  he 
reached  the  long  double  row  of  little  houses  in  which  the 
Analyte  workmen  lived,  even  the  grotesque  element  of 
tragedy  was  not  missing,  and  it,  of  all,  is  the  saddest. 

"  'E  's  in  there,  Lansing  is,"  a  man  told  him,  pointing 
to  a  door  before  which  stood  a  small  coffin,  while  the  boy 
who  had  brought  it  was  knocking.  "  Been  up  all  night. 
Bill 's  an  old  friend.  And  Bill 's  missus  wanted  a  white 
coffin  for  the  child  —  though  there  ain't  much  left  of 
it  to  put  into  a  coffin.'* 

Tommy  shuddered.     "  I  don't  quite  know  about  the 
accident.     I  came  last  night  with  Mr.  Lansing,  but  — 
we  were  too  busy  to  ask." 

"  Boiler  burst  and  blew  'em  up,"  explained  the  man 
laconically.  "  Nobody's  fault.  Some  of  'em  tried  to 
make  out  it  was,  but  it  was  n't.  Sooner  or  later  boilers 
do  burst." 

Tommy  looked  curiously  at  his  imperturbable  face. 
"  None  of  your  people  hurt,  I  suppose  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No.  Good  reason  for  that  —  ain't  got  no  people. 
The  young  lady  is  in  there  too.  She  's  got  a  lot  of 
nerve.  Most  ladies  faint." 

Something  in  Tommy's  face  struck  him,  for  he  added 
slowly:  "Are  you  the  young  gentleman  as  —  wasn't 
well?  " 

"  I  am  the  young  gentleman  who  fainted,"  returned 
Tommy  with  deep  shame. 


KINGSMEAD  209 

The  man  nodded.  "  They  said  you  were  very  brave 
and  —  useful,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and  you  don't  look  over 
strong." 

Before  Tommy  could  answer  the  door  of  the  house 
opened  and  Mrs.  Gilpin  appeared  and  said  a  few  words 
to  the  boy  with  the  coffin,  whose  knocks  had  hitherto 
been  unheeded.  When  she  saw  Tommy  she  came  down 
the  path  toward  him.  He  never  forgot  her  face  as  it 
was  then.  She  was  very  pale  but  quite  calm,  and  the 
corners  of  her  mouth  were  deep-set  and  firm.  He  could 
see  that  she  had  been  working  hard,  that  she  was  very 
tired,  but  that  in  spite  of  her  tender  heart  she  was,  in 
the  midst  of  suffering  and  pain,  in  her  element. 

The  little  slight  creature  was  that  rarest  of  women,  a 
born  nurse. 

"  Are  you  all  right?  "  she  asked,  giving  him  her  hand. 

"Quite.    How  is  — he?" 

"  He  is  —  with  them.  Going  about  from  house  to 
house  —  mourning  with  them,  poor  things,  and  that 
helps  more  than  anything  else.  He  is  very  splendid, 
Lord  Kingsmead." 

"  Is  he  in  here  now  ?  " 

"Yes.  It  —  it  was  the  only  child.  The  father's 
nearly  crazy.  The  mother  —  well,  it  is  very  hideous,  but 
perhaps  it  helps  her  through  —  the  mother  is  drunk." 

"Oh!" 

This  hurt  Tommy,  and  she  saw  it  and  smiled,  a  quiet 
nurselike  smile  for  the  weakness  of  the  untrained. 
14 


210  KINGSMEAEl 

"  Will  you  come  in  ?  " 

He  followed  her,  wondering  how  he  could  have  been 
so  dense  as  not  to  see  from  the  first  that  her  beautiful 
serenity  was  in  part  at  least  the  result  of  training. 

In  the  cottage  he  found  Lansing  sitting  by  the  fire 
with  the  father  of  the  dead  child.  Both  men  sat  with 
their  heads  in  their  hands,  but  Lansing's  left  hand  lay 
on  the  other  man's  knee. 

As  the  door  opened  the  other  man  looked  up. 

"  That 's  not  a  parson?  "  he  asked  harshly. 

"  No,  no,  Bill.  No  one  shall  come  whom  you  don't 
want." 

The  boy  who  had  brought  the  coffin  went  out,  and 
Tommy  stood  leaning  against  the  door,  sick  at  heart, 
as  the  old  phrase  so  wonderfully  expresses  it. 

On  the  bier  in  the  corner  lay,  a  small  thing  covered 
with  a  green  plaid  shawl.  The  clock  ticked  cheerfully, 
and  in  the  silence  a  brutish  sound  came  from  the  next 
room  —  the  sound  of  drunken  snoring. 

Mrs.  Gilpin,  after  a  short  pause,  went  to  Lansing  and 
touched  his  shoulder.  He  rose  and  came  to  her. 

When  he  saw  Tommy  his  haggard  face  melted  to  a 
half-smile.  "  You  must  go,"  he  said  gently.  "  They 
don't  want  strangers  and  you  can't  help.  Even  she 
can't  help." 

He  put  his  hand  on  each  of  theirs,  all  his  shyness 
gone.  He  was  master  here,  master  by  nature,  by  be- 
longing to  the  people,  and  his  worn  face  expressed  the 
gratitude  of  an  officer  to  his  good  soldiers. 


KINGSMEAD  211 

"  I  want  you  both  to  go  home  now,"  he  said.  "  Tell 
my  wife  I  '11  stay,  with  them.  It 's  my  place." 

Even  Tommy,  usually  understanding,  might  have  pro- 
tested, asked  to  be  allowed  to  stay,  to  try  to  help,  but 
Mrs.  Gilpin  answered  at  once. 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Lansing,  we  will  go.    Good-bye." 
"  Good-bye.    And  thank  you.    Thank  you  both." 
He  was  polite  as  well  as  grateful,  but  he  wanted  to 
be  rid  of  them  and  showed  it  plainly. 

So  with  a  last  look  at  the  poor  little  form  on  the  bed 
Nanny  opened  the  door  and  they  went  out. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"!T  seems  rather  like  deserting  the  ship,"  remarked 
Tommy  as  they  opened  the  gate  and  turned  to  the  left 
among  the  little  knots  of  excited  people  who  stood  talk- 
ing over  the  horrors  of  the  accident. 

Nanny  laughed.  "  That 's  the  amateur  point  of  view. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  we  are  simply  obeying  orders,  which 
is  the  fundamental  law  in  most  things." 

Her  little  brisk  air  sat  oddly  on  her,  but  he  recognised 
it  as  her  nursing  manner,  and  he  liked  it.  He  knew  that 
he  should  never  forget  seeing  her  working  among  the 
stricken  people  through  the  long  hours.  It  was  a  new 
side  of  her  beautiful  character,  and  he  reverently  loved 
it.  There  were  so  many  loving  and  lovable  things  about 
her,  and  each  one  endeared  her  to  Tommy  for  Teddy's 
sake.  She  would  so  help  Teddy,  so  bring  out  the  good 
that  was  in  him,  so  encourage  his  good  points  and  mini- 
mise his  bad  ones.  Tommy  would  have  given  half  his 
little  income  for  that  year  if  the  comfort-loving,  ugly- 
sight-fearing  Teddy  could  have  seen  her  tending  the 
dying  and  wounded  the  night  before,  her  lilylike  gown 
stained  with  blood  and  darkened  with  the  dust  of  the 
floor  she  knelt  upon. 

"  Have  you  a  sister?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

212 


KINGSMEAD  213 

She  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  twide  with  surprise.  "  A 
sister?  No.  Why?" 

"  Because  —  I  wish  you  had."     He  blushed. 

"  But  why?  I  never  even  had  one,  so  I  don't  miss 
her." 

"  I  know.  B-but  I  was  thinking  I  wish  you  had  one 
just  like  yourself  and  that  I  might  m-marry  her,"  he 
answered  bravely. 

Her  face  was  very  gentle  and  she  did  not  smile. 
"  That  is  a  great  compliment,  Lord  Kingsmead,  and  I 
fear  you  think  far  too  highly  of  me." 

"  No,  I  don't.    But  I  like  you  so  much,  Mrs.  Gilpin." 

Suddenly  he  saw  that  she  had  no  hat  on. 

"Where  is  your  hat?  "  he  asked,  aghast,  for  it  was 
cold. 

"  I  left  it  at  the  factory  last  night  —  forgot  it.  It 
does  n't  matter,  but  I  must  buy  a  cap  of  some  sort 
before  we  go  back.  I  want  to  go  in  here  for  a  moment ; 
will  you  come?  " 

The  cottage  was  a  very  poor  one,  and  inside  the  door 
three  women  were  talking  loudly. 

When  Mrs.  Gilpin  and  Tommy  entered  they  turned 
and  stared,  hostile. 

"  I  wish  to  see  Mrs.  Carney.    How  is  she?  " 

"  She  's  asleep  —  you  'd  better  not  go  in  —  it  Js 
twins." 

"  I  am  a  nurse,  so  I  will  go  in.  And  please,"  she 
added  with  her  air  of  quiet  authority,  "  do  not  talk  so 
loud." 


214  KINGSMEAD 

Tommy,  making  himself  as  small  as  possible,  stood 
with  his  back  to  the  wall  watching.  He  was  de  trop, 
but  Nancy  had  brought  him  and  so  he  stayed. 

The  three  women  on  hearing  that  she  was  a  nurse 
lowered  their  voices,  and  one  of  them  offered  Tommy 
a  chair. 

Presently  the  inner  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Gilpin  re- 
appeared, bearing  in  each  arm  a  small  flannel  bundle. 

"  A  boy  and  a  girl,"  she  said  to  Tommy ;  "  lovely 
babies  —  look  at  them." 

And  Tommy  being  a  male  thing  was  rather  appalled 
as  he  inspected  the  small  mulberry-coloured  faces  in 
her  arms.  The  babies,  he  thought,  were  very  horrible 
to  behold,  but  all  the  manhood  in  him  stood  at  attention 
and  did  reverence  to  the  womanhood  in  the  Mignonette 
Lady  as  she  stood  there  smiling  down  at  the  new-born 
little  creatures.  She  looked  so  strong,  so  tender,  so 
motherly  —  something  in  Tommy's  breast  leaped, 
turned  over,  and  fell  with  a  queer  sensation  that  made 
him  almost  faint  for  a  second. 

"  P-poor  little  things,"  he  stammered,  laying  his 
hand  on  one  of  the  bundles,  "  how  —  s-small  they  are." 

"  Yes,"  she  returned  seriously,  "  twins  are  usually 
smaller  than  single  ones.  Are  n't  they  dears  ?  " 

Bending  her  smooth  black  head  she  kissed  one  of  the 
babies  very  delicately,  and  went  back  into  the  other 
room. 

So  that  was  the  way  women  feel  about  babies ! 


KINGSMEAD  215 

Tommy's  eyes  were  a  little  wet  and  he  stood  looking 
at  the  fire  for  a  moment.  He  was  a  very  sentimental 
person. 

Five  minutes  later  Mrs.  Gilpin  came  out  and  took  him 
away. 

"  I  must  go  and  buy  a  cap,"  she  said,  "  and  then 
we  '11  start  back  at  once.  The  car  is  at  the  inn,  the  Grey 
Rat.  Odious  name  for  an  inn,  is  n't  it?  " 

They  went  quickly  back  to  the  High  Street,  almost 
in  silence  until  Tommy  burst  out,  "  I  say,  Mrs.  Gilpin, 
I  am  awfully  ashamed  of  fainting  last  night !  " 

"  I  only  wonder  that  you  stood  it  so  long.  The  smell 
of  burnt  flesh,"  she  added,  "  is  so  unpleasant." 

"  You  did  n't  faint !  " 

"  No.     But  I  was  in  a  hospital  for  two  years." 

"  So  I  heard  you  tell  Dr.  Cole.  Was  it  —  before 
your  marriage?  " 

"  Both.  We  were  very  poor  at  first.  When  we  were 
married  I  had  been  in  for  a  year,  and  I  stayed  on  for 
nearly  another.  Then  he  came  into  a  little  money  and 
we  were  ordered  to  India." 

"  Did  you  like  it  ?    Nursing,  I  mean." 

"  Yes.    I  like  sick  people." 

"  I  saw  that  you  did,"  returned  Tommy.  "  Ah !  this 
looks  like  a  shop  where  you  could  get  a  cap.  I  '11  see 
if  I  can  knock  them  up." 

After  five  minutes'  loud  rapping  a  woman  opened  a 
window  over  the  shop  and  was  told  what  they  wanted. 


216  KINGSMEAD 

"  I  can't  sell  things  to-day,"  she  declared  roughly ; 
"  it 's  agin  the  law." 

"  Not  to-day  ?  This  lady  spent  the  night  at  the 
Analyte  Works,  helping  the  doctor,  and  forgot  her 
cap  there.  We  are  going  home  now,  in  a  motor,  and  if 
you  won't  let  us  have  a  hat  of  some  kind  she  '11  have  to 
go  bareheaded." 

"  Dear  me !    Wait  a  minute  and  I  '11  come  down." 

A  moment  later  the  two  were  in  the  shop,  and  a  flat 
grey  cap  was  chosen,  which  Tommy  paid  for. 

"  'Orrid  accident,  wasn't  it,  sir?"  asked  the  shop- 
keeper curiously.  "  They  say  it  '11  be  in  the  London 
papers.  Legs  and  arms  all  over  the  place,  I  'm  told, 
and  a  little  boy  with  'is  'cad  blowed  clean  off." 

Tommy  shuddered.  "  Oh,  don't!  "  he  answered  im- 
petuously. "  We  saw  it  —  or  much  of  it,  and  it  does  n't 
bear  talking  about." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

The  woman  was  abashed,  and  held  up  a  scrap  of  a 
mirror  in  silence  while  Mrs.  Gilpin  pinned  the  cap  on  her 
smooth  hair.  It  was  a  very  common  shop,  filled  with 
all  sorts  of  cheap  and  unlovely  articles  of  apparel,  and 
one  side  of  the  wall  was  lined  with  huge  pigeonholes  full 
of  Berlin  worsteds,  crude  reds  and  greens  for  the  most 
part. 

Tommy  looked  around  as  Mrs.  Gilpin  pinned  on  the 
cap,  and  just  as  they  were  about  to  go  two  women  in 
dark  blue  cloaks  and  bonnets  came  in. 


KINGSMEAD  217 

Mrs.  Gilpin,  a  slim  grey  figure,  pressed  back  against 
the  gay  worsteds  to  make  room  for  them,  when  suddenly 
the  second  of  the  two,  staring  hard  at  her,  exclaimed, 
"  Why,  Aileen  Donovan  —  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gilpin  looked  at  her  gently.  "  There  's  some 
mistake,"  she  said,  "  my  name  is  not  Donovan." 

The  nurse  blushed.  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  My  name 
is  Nurse  West  —  Jessie  Hart  —  and  I  thought  you  were 
an  old  friend  of  mine.  I  am  very  sorry." 

Mrs.  Gilpin  smiled  at  her.  "  Not  at  all,"  she  an- 
swered. "  I  mean,  it  does  n't  matter  a  bit.  You  have 
come  to  look  after  the  poor  people  who  were  hurt  last 
night?  " 

"  Yes,  madam."  The  nurse's  change  of  tone  was 
almost  ludicrous.  "  There  's  been  a  baby  born  and  I  'm 
looking  for  baby-linen  for  it.  Nurse  James,  here,  is 
after  cotton-wool ;  the  chemist  is  out  of  it." 

Mrs.  Gilpin  nodded  kindly.     Hers  was  a  wonderfully 
kind  face,  Tommy  thought  for  the  hundredth  time. 
"  Will  you  lend  me  a  sovereign  ?  "  she  asked  Tommy. 

He  gave  her  the  sovereign  and  she  pressed  it  into  the 
hand  of  the  still  embarrassed  nurse.  "  Buy  some  little 
thing  for  the  poor  baby,  please,"  she  said. 

Then  she  and  Tommy  left  the  shop. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"  FATHEE  and  I,"  declared  Pammy,  rushing  to  the 
motor,  as  toward  six  o'clock  it  stopped  at  the  door, 
"  are  the  only  ones  left!  " 

Mrs.  Gilpin,  whose  hand  was  being  held  by  the  young 
girl,  smiled  at  her  a  little  vaguely.  "  Are  you  ?  "  she 
asked. 

But  Tommy,  as  he  helped  her  alight,  put  the  illumi- 
nating question:  "  What  has  happened?  " 

That  Pammy  was  in  a  state  of  most  pleasurable  ex- 
citement was  plainly  visible,  and  at  such  moments  her 
future  prettiness  seemed  to  get  the  better  of  her  bulk 
and  insist  on  recognition.  Her  crimson  cheeks  were  less 
red  than  usual,  her  eyes  bright  and  dark,  and  her  wind- 
blown silky  hair  very  charming  indeed. 

"  Well,  you  see,  they  have  all  had  an  attack  of  aver- 
sion to  type  —  that 's  what  father  calls  it.  But  do 
come  in  and  have  tea,  and  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Leading  the  way  to  the  great  hall  with  a  semicon- 
scious air  of  hospitality,  she  helped  Nancy  Gilpin  get 
out  of  her  coat,  kissed  her  noisily,  took  off  her  fur 
gloves,  and  paying  no  attention  to  Tommy's  statement 
that  they  had  had  tea  an  hour  ago  at  a  wayside  pub, 
made  the  travellers  sit  down  by  the  fire,  which  she  poked 

218 


KINGSMEAD  219 

with  an  air  of  giving  a  solemn  person  a  dig  in  the  ribs 
and  telling  it  to  cheer  up. 

"  Well,  go  on  —  we  're  dying  to  hear  the  news,"  said 
Tommy,  much  amused  by  the  young  girl's  manner  as 
well  as  really  curious  to  know  what  had  happened. 

Then  Pammy  sat  down,  the  poker  still  in  her  hand, 
and  drawing  a  deep  breath,  began : 

"  Well,  poor  Mrs.  Lansing  was  awake  all  night,  and 
when  she  woke  up  it  was  eleven  o'clock !  " 

"  How  could  she  wake  up  if  she  was  awake  all  night  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  And  she  was  dreadfully 
upset  about  her  husband's  being  there  without  her.  The 
Duchess  tried  to  comfort  her,  but  could  n't.  Mr.  Teddy 
spent  all  his  morning  looking  for  telegrams  —  from  you 
—  and  when  none  came  he  got  frightfully  cross,  and 
even  mother  thought  him  rude.  Then  at  last  Mrs.  Lan- 
sing decided  to  go  too  —  I  mean  to  Ramsbury.  The 
Duchess  thought  it  nonsense,  but  Mrs.  Lansing  told  her 
she  did  n't  know  what  she  was  talking  about,  and  that 
they  were  her  people,  and  she  had  worked  in  a  factory 
herself,  and  so  on.  So  at  twelve  Mr.  Teddy  and  she  left. 
Poor  Mrs.  Lansing  seemed  quite  helpless  without  Mr. 
Lansing,  but  she  would  go." 

Tommy  nodded.    "  And  the  Duchess  ?" 

"  The  Duchess  was  going  to-morrow  anyhow,  you 
know,  so  she  decided  to  go  to-day  instead.  She  gave 
Mrs.  Lansing  her  own  handkerchief  at  the  last  moment, 
for  she  had  lost  hers  —  Mrs.  Lansing  had,  I  mean.  And 


220  KINGSMEAD 

when  Mrs.  Lansing  cried  so  awfully  she  patted  her  on 
the  back  —  the  Duchess  patted  Mrs.  Lansing.  Well, 
the  Duchess  being  so  old  mother  would  n't  let  her  go 
alone  with  Poe,  so  mother  went  with  her.  They  went  to 
Lady  Yeoland's  —  they  wired  first  to  see  if  it  would  be 
inconvenient,  and  mother  is  coming  back  to  fetch  us 
to-morrow.  Then  Lord  and  Lady  Pontefract  went  home 
too,  —  I  've  forgotten  why  they  went  —  and  —  Sir  Wil- 
fred left  an  hour  ago !  " 

Tommy  burst  out  laughing.    "  Why  did  he  go  ?  " 

Pammy's  large  face  lengthened  with  mysterious  im- 
portance. "  He  went  because  —  because  Miss  Lansing 
refused  him ! " 

"  Good  gracious,  Pammy,  what  an  appalling  person 
you  are!  How  can  you  possibly  know  that?  " 

The  tea,  which  had  arrived,  stood  unheeded  on  the 
table,  even  Pammy  forgetting  it. 

Mrs.  Gilpin  lay  back  wearily  in  her  chair,  gazing 
with  half-closed  eyes  into  the  fire. 

The  reaction  from  her  night  of  painful  hard  work 
had  set  in  soon  after  they  had  left  Ramsbury,  and  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  journey  she  had  been  quite  silent. 
Tommy  looked  at  her  anxiously  as  he  put  his  amused 
questions  to  Pammy. 

"  I  Icnow.  Because,"  declared  the  young  girl  cheer- 
fully, "  I  heard  him !  " 

"  Heard  him  ?  You  little  brute,  you  've  been  eaves- 
dropping !  " 


KINGSMEAD 

Tommy  rose  disgustedly.  "  Don't  say  another  word, 
we  refuse  to  listen  to  you.  Come,  Mrs.  Gilpin,"  he 
added  gently,  "  you  must  go  upstairs  and  rest.  I  '11  tell 
Miss  Lansing  that  you  are  too  tired  to  dine." 

"  No,  no,  I  am  not  tired.  I  am  far  stronger  than  I 
look,  Lord  Kingsmead.  Please  don't  worry  about  me. 
I  '11  go  and  see  Inez,  poor  girl." 

Taking  up  her  gloves,  she  left  the  room,  and  Tommy 
turned  to  the  extremely  discomfited  Pammy,  whose  round 
eyes  were,  he  saw,  full  of  tears. 

"  Don't  howl,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  but  keep  your 
crimes  to  yourself.  I  will  have  a  cup  of  tea,  after  all." 

Pammy  winked  hard  to  keep  the  tears  from  falling. 

"  You  need  n't  have  been  so  beastly,"  she  muttered, 
sitting  down  at  the  tea-table ;  "  I  'm  not  a  sneak." 

"  All  right.  We  '11  call  it  an  accident,  —  three  bits 
of  sugar,  please,  —  but  you  must  n't  tell  me,  please. 
Where  's  your  father?  "  But  Pammy  was  possessed  of 
a  vast  though  gentle  pertinacity,  and  intended  to  tell 
her  story. 

"  He  's  playing  with  Eliza  —  with  her  electric  railway, 
upstairs.  They  were  here  and  I  came  down  the  stairs 
from  the  gallery.  I  was  n't  walking  quietly " 

"Oh!" 

"  Well,"  she  asked  with  great  indignation,  "  do  I  ever 
walk  quietly  ?  "  And  he,  with  a  laugh,  was  obliged  to 
admit  that  her  coming  was  always  heralded  by  almost 
elephantine  footfalls. 


222  KINGSMEAD 

"Well  —  and  they  just  didn't  hear  me.  It  wasn't 
my  fault.  I  heard  him  say  would  n't  she  reconsider,  that 
he  loved  her  very 

"  Oh,  chuck  it,  Pammy,  if  you  have  any  decency," 
interrupted  Tommy.  "  Can't  you  see  that  you  are  being 
a  bounder  in  telling?  " 

"  No,  I  can't.  And  she  said,"  the  girl  continued,  as 
unmoved  as  a  bale  of  cotton  by  a  charge  of  duckshot, 
"  that  she  would  n't.  I  told  the  Duchess,  and  she  said, 
'  The  girl  is  a  fool,'  for  it  seems  he  is  well  born  and  so 
on,  and  he  is  in  the  Scots  Greys !  I,"  biting  meditatively 
into  a  jam  sandwich,  "  am  going  to  marry  a  naval 
officer." 

"Why?"  asked  Tommy,  relieved  at  the  advent  of  a 
new  topic. 

"  Because  they  're  always  away.  Oh  —  well,  the  next 
thing  that  happened  was  Mr.  Green  —  the  young  one  — 
called  and  took  Inez  for  a  walk.  That  was  at  four, 
and  they  are  still  walking.  Father  says  young  Green 
is  a  very  nice  boy.  Inez  is  n't  bad,  either.  She  gave 
me  a  string  of  corals  the  other  day.  But  I  prefer 
pearls." 

Tommy  rose,  laughing. 

"  No  accounting  for  tastes,  is  thererf*  Did  my  sister 
leave  no  message  for  me?  " 

Pammy  jumped  nearly  out  of  her  chair  and  began 
rummaging  in  her  short  serge  skirt  for  a  pocket. 

"Oh  yes;    what  an  idiot  I  am  —  she  left  a  letter. 


KINGSMEAD  223 

Here  it  is  —  I  hope  you  don't  mind  its  being  rather 
squashed." 

Tommy  took  the  letter  gingerly.  "  It  *s  a  moot  point 
in  law,"  he  said,  removing  a  small  lump  of  some  sticky 
yellow  substance  from  the  back  of  the  envelope,  "whether 
this  piece  of  toffy  belongs  to  you  or  to  me  —  or  even 
to  her !  However,  I  am  a  generous  young  man,  so  I  '11 
cede  the  point." 

Pammy  took  her  toffy,  looked  at  it  doubtfully  for  a 
moment  and  then  not  unregretfully  threw  it  into  the 
fire.  Tommy  meantime  was  reading  the  note. 

"  DEAREST  L.  B. :  Ponty  is  what  he  calls  too  fed  up  for 
words,  so  we  are  off.  Pam  (or  probably  the  voluble  Pammy) 
will  tell  you  the  news  and  why  you  and  Mrs.  G.  will  find  the 
house  empty  but  for  Inez.  It  was  very  sad  last  night,  and 
to-day  things  have  been  worse. 

"  The  Leather-heads  are  dining  with  us  to-morrow,  as  their 
friend  the  Irishman  wants  to  see  Ponty 's  buffalo-hide.  Won't 
you  and  Inez  and  dear  little  Mrs.  Gilpin  come  too  ?  Do.  Heaps 
of  love. 

"  BICKY." 

Pammy  was  watching  him  closely,  her  face,  in  its 
loss  of  animation,  heavy  and  almost  dull.  "  Why  did 
they  go  ?  "  she  asked,  but  obviously  not  much  caring 
what  the  answer  to  her  question  might  be. 

Tommy  laughed.  "  To  make  little  girls  ask  ques- 
tions. Ah!  here  they  are." 

But  Inez  Lansing  came  in  alone,  and  sinking  down 
into  a  low  chair  asked  Pammy  to  give  her  some  tea. 


KINGSMEAD 

"  I  'm  sorry  all  this  has  happened,"  she  began 
abruptly.  "  It  was  nonsense  for  mother  to  go.  They 
will  all  be  horribly  embarrassed  by  her,  and  I  told  her 
so.  Those  people  want  to  be  by  themselves  when  they 
are  in  trouble." 

Again  Tommy  wondered  who  was  the  woman  whom 
she  so  obviously  was  imitating.  Whoever  she  was  the 
young  man  knew  he  should  detest  her. 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  Miss  Lansing  went  on,  taking  her 
tea  from  Pammy's  large  white  hand,  beside  which  her 
own,  thin  and  small  and  dark,  looked  like  a  monkey's, 
"  why  she  went." 

"  I  know,"  declared  Pammy. 

"Why,  then?" 

Tommy  tried  to  speak,  but  it  was  too  late. 

"  An  aversion  to  type." 

Inez  stared  for  a  moment  and  then  flushed  a  deep  red. 

"  Aha !    And  who  told  you  that?  " 

"  Father." 

"  You  have  n't  got  it  right,  you  little  goose !  "  burst 
out  Tommy,  sincerely  sorry  for  the  elder  girl  as  he 
watched  her.  "  Miss  Lansing,  do  have  some  cream  in 
your  tea  —  that  looks  poisonously  strong." 

"  No.  It  may  be  another  case  of  reversion  to  type," 
she  returned  bitterly,  "  My  liking  black  tea.  They 
always  do." 

Swallowing  the  tea  hastily  she  rose  without  another 
word  and  left  the  room. 


KINGSMEAD  225 

"  You  are  a  little  horror,  Pammy,"  declared  Tommy, 
seriously  annoyed.  "  You  should  n't  repeat  what  you 
hear,  and  you  should  n't  use  words  you  don't  under- 
stand." 

"  I  'm  sorry.  Did  n't  mean  to  make  her  angry,  but 
you  have  n't  any  right  to  scold  me.  Besides,  what  did 
I  say?" 

Pammy's  large  face  was  crimson  and  her  eyes  full  of 
tears. 

"  Well,  you  've  hurt  her  feelings  and  you  have  been 
meddlesome,  which  is  a  perfectly  horrid  thing  to  be." 

"  ShaU  I  go  and  tell  her  I  'm  sorry?  I  '11  tell  her  I 
don't  know  what  it  means " 

Pammy's  humility  touched  Tommy,  who  laughed 
ruefully. 

"  No,  no.  Let  bad  enough  alone,  my  dear.  But  never 
repeat  things,  Pammy,  it 's  awful  —  it  is  n't  cricket." 

Pammy  wiped  her  eyes,  in  default  of  a  handkerchief, 
on  her  sleeve. 

"  Oh,  Tommy !    But  I  won't,  indeed  I  won't !  " 


15 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  next  morning  Tommy  went  for  a  long  walk  after 
bidding  the  Lenskys  good-bye,  and  did  not  come  back 
until  dressing-time.  The  evening  before  had  been  dull, 
but  not  so  painful  as  he  had  expected,  for  to  his  surprise 
Inez  had  appeared  much  as  usual  at  dinner,  and  talked 
most  peacefully  with  Lensky,  who,  quite  innocent  of  the 
fact  that  his  amused  remark  had  been  repeated  by  his 
sharp-eared  and  indiscreet  adopted  daughter,  met  her 
with  a  kind  question  about  her  father. 

Jack  Lensky  was  considered  one  of  the  most  charming 
men  in  London,  and  his  smooth,  fair  face  with  its  per- 
manent monocle  and  his  seraphic  pale-green  gaze  was 
well  known  to  everyone  who,  as  the  phrase  goes,  was 
anyone. 

He  spoke  many  languages,  his  discretion  was  absolute, 
his  devotion  to  the  beauty  of  women  never  involved  him 
in  the  toils  of  a  devotion  to  any  woman,  and  he  and  his 
wife  were  cited  in  these  days  of  cheerfully  accepted  in- 
fidelity as  a  model  couple. 

Tommy,  whose  capacity  for  admiration  was  so  very 
great,  had  ever  since  his  little  boyhood  been  devoted  to 
the  dapper  little  Pole,  and  in  his  impersonal  way  Lensky 
was  fond  of  him. 

226 


KINGSMEAD  227 

The  younger  man  had  as  a  boy  frequently  visited  the 
Lenskys  when  they  lived  in  the  country,  but  of  late,  since 
Lensky's  position  at  the  Russian  embassy  had  grown 
in  importance,  they  lived  altogether  in  the  old  house  in 
Little  College  Street. 

Three  years  of  their  married  life  had  been  passed  on 
the  Continent,  two  of  them  in  St.  Petersburg,  but  they 
both  loved  England,  and  in  spite  of  hints  from  high 
quarters  that  an  ambassadorship  might  be  the  reward 
of  a  few  years'  more  patience,  he  had  retired  from  the 
diplomatic  service,  and  accepted  a  permanent  position 
of  some  more  or  less  undefined  kind  at  the  embassy. 

So  Pam  Lensky  was  at  last  a  real  Londoner. 

Mrs.  Gilpin  liked  Lensky,  and  he  and  she  talked 
about  Russia  at  dinner  that  night.  She  had  been  there 
and  had  liked  it.  She  looked  very  tired,  in  spite  of  her 
asseverations  to  the  contrary,  and  her  voice  dragged 
with  weariness,  dropping  at  the  ends  of  her  sentences  as 
if  with  relief. 

Inez  and  Tommy  upheld  a  desultory  and  quite  unin- 
teresting conversation,  and  Pammy,  who  had  received 
a  very  sharp  scolding  from  Tommy,  sat  enveloped  in 
gloomy  silence.  So  that  everyone  was  glad  when  dinner 
was  over,  and  the  evening  was  shortened  by  an  early 
withdrawal  of  the  two  women,  Pammy  having  disap- 
peared immediately  on  leaving  the  dining-room. 

So  when  Madame  de  Lensky  arrived  in  the  morning, 
Tommy  bade  them  all  good-bye  and  went  for  a  walk. 


228  KINGSMEAD 

He  was  not  a  walker  in  the  real  sense  of  the  vain- 
glorious word.  That  is,  he  sometimes  did  other  things 
too,  and  even  at  times  would  not  take  a  real  walk  for 
days  —  if  he  was  busy  with  an  interesting  book,  or  if 
it  was  dusty  or  wet.  He  hated  dust  as  the  Utopian 
parlour-maid  should,  and  the  wet  hated  him  and  caused 
his  Wretched  Beast,  as  he  called  his  delicate  health,  to 
stir  uneasily. 

But  there  were  times  when  only  an  overlong  tramp 
could  rest  his  mind,  and  that  second  of  January  was  one 
of  them. 

So  off  he  started  under  a  threatening  grey  sky,  and 
turning  to  his  left  on  leaving  the  park  gates  climbed  a 
steep  path  to  the  downs,  from  the  top  of  which  the  sea 
was  distantly  visible. 

"  I  wish  I  were  at  the  Castelletto,"  he  remarked  aloud 
to  himself ;  "  there  is  probably  daylight  there." 

He  could,  as  he  marched  on  over  the  rapidly  soften- 
ing ridges  of  the  yesterday  icebound  road,  see  the  little 
high-perched  pile  of  grey  stone ;  the  grotesque  prickly- 
pears  stretching  their  contorted  arms  in  the  yellow 
sunlight;  the  brilliant,  Japanese-looking  fir-trees  sil- 
houetted against  the  vivid  blue  of  the  wide-spreading 
sea. 

"  The  wallflowers  are  green  by  this  time,"  he  thought 
regretfully,  "  and  irises  all  over  the  place !  And  in  the 
garden  under  the  wall  —  violets.  Oh,  paese  beato!  " 

And,  shocked  and  hurt  as  his  sensitive  organisation 


KINGSMEAD  229 

had  been  by  the  awful  sights  he  had  seen  the  night 
before  the  last,  the  little  rocky  promontory,  grey  and 
green  and  sunny,  did  indeed  seem  to  him  to  be  a  blessed 
land. 

If  it  would  not,  to  his  peculiar  mind,  have  seemed, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  bound  to  England  by  no 
duties,  cowardice  to  go  away  he  must  certainly  have 
fled  to  Italy  that  very  day.  It  would  be  bad  to  leave 
his  sister,  but  —  he  could  always  come  back ;  and  with- 
out attempting  to  analyse  feelings  the  recognition  of 
which  would  have  caused  him  keen  self-scorn,  he  felt 
that  that  was  home  —  the  Castelletto  —  and  that  here, 
in  the  cold  grey  land  where  awful  things  happen,  he  was 
a  kind  of  voluntary  outlaw. 

He  was,  in  fact,  suffering  from  overstrung  nerves, 
but  he  knew  only  that  things  were  going  agley,  that  the 
world  was  out  of  joint,  and  that  something  menacing 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  him,  hidden  behind  the  imme- 
diate hours. 

If  Tommy  had  had  a  wise  mother  she  would  have 
kept  him  with  her  that  morning,  talking  of  cheerful, 
indifferent  things ;  and  without  his  suspecting  it,  she 
would  have  seen  that  he  did  not  sit  in  a  draught,  eat 
anything  indigestible,  or  hear  anything  harrowing.  But 
his  mother  was  dead,  poor  soul,  leaving  behind  her  a 
record  of  variegated  unwisdom  and  futile  passions,  and 
so  the  young  man  was  walking,  chilled  and  depressed, 
over  the  downs,  looking  without  interest  at  the  grey 


230  KINGSMEAD 

sea,  so  different  from  the  blue  one  he  wanted  —  and 
needed. 

When  he  reached  home,  tired  out,  he  had  but  just 
time  to  dress  for  dinner,  and  then  he  and  Inez  and  Mrs. 
Gilpin  set  out  together  for  Pomfret  Abbey. 

"  I  saw  Lady  Pontefract  to-day,"  Inez  announced,  as 
little  Nanny  sat  down  between  her  and  Tommy.  "  I 
was  in  the  chemist's  shop  and  she  came  in.  She  won- 
dered you  had  not  been  to  see  her." 

"  No  —  I  —  just  tramped.  I  am  going  to  stop  with 
her  in  a  few  days,  you  know.  Perhaps,"  he  added,  "  I 
had  better  be  there  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lansing  come 
back." 

"  No,  no.  Oh,  please !  You  will  make  things  so 
much  easier  —  if  you  don't  mind !  Father  will  be  very 
savage,  poor  dear,  and  mother  —  is  so  fond  of  you. 
You  are,"  she  added  in  her  gentlest  voice,  "  a  very  com- 
forting person."  Tommy  sighed  silently.  "  Is  n't  he, 
Nanny?" 

"  Yes.  That  is  because  he  is  so  kind,"  Mrs.  Gilpin 
answered,  laying  her  hand,  in  the  darkness,  for  one 
instant  on  his  arm. 

And  somehow  Tommy  felt  better  for  her  little  friendly 
caress.  After  all,  he  thought,  she  really  did  need  him, 
and  so  did  Teddy.  Teddy,  poor  darling  fellow,  must 
be  having  an  awful  time  at  Ramsbury.  He  was  utterly 
and  hopelessly  out  of  place  among  the  people  from 
whom  he  had  sprung,  and  his  consciousness  of  it  only 
made  matters  worse. 


KINGSMEAD  231 

Poor  little  Mignonette  Lady  too!  She  as  well  must 
be  feeling  lonely  to-night,  with  him  so  far  away. 

Tommy's  tense  nerves  yielded  a  little  at  this  thought. 

After  dinner  he  would  take  her  to  see  something  in 
the  library  and  cheer  her  up  by  talking  about  Teddy. 
During  the  rest  of  the  dinner  he  chattered  gaily,  suc- 
ceeding at  length,  to  his  own  delight,  in  making  both 
the  women  laugh  with  real  enjoyment,  and  the  homesick 
vision  of  the  Castelletto  receded  comfortably  into  the 
back  of  liis  brain. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

POMFRET  ABBEY  was  a  depressingly  large  house,  and  its 
dining-room,  a  huge  place,  sombre  and  magnificent,  was 
Brigit's  bete  noir,  although  it  was,  in  its  way,  too  per- 
fect to  be  altered.  So  on  ordinary  occasions  the  Ponte- 
fracts  dined  in  what  was  called,  for  no  particular  reason, 
the  white  dining-room. 

This  room,  while  not  white,  was  light-coloured  and 
cheerful,  besides  possessing  the  peculiar  characteristic 
of  being  perfectly  round.  Its  dull  blue  hangings,  broken 
by  three  windows,  made  a  becoming  background,  and 
the  round  table  gave  to  small  parties  a  feeling  of  par- 
ticular confidence  and  cosiness. 

It  was  in  this  charming  room  that  the  dinner  that 
night  took  place,  and  everyone,  sitting  down,  felt  a  little 
pang  of  pleasure. 

Lord  and  Lady  Leatherhead  had  at  the  last  moment 
been  unable  to  come,  but  their  guest,  Major  Portrush, 
in  whose  honour  the  party  had  hastily  been  arranged, 
was  there. 

Pontefract,  after  talking  for  a  moment  with  Mrs. 
Gilpin,  drew  his  little  brother-in-law  aside. 

"  Tommy  —  Joyselle  is  dying." 

The  young  man  started,  and  he  glanced  hastily  toward 
232 


KINGSMEAD  233 

his  sister,  who,  dressed  in  white,  was  composedly  chat- 
ting with  a  tall  girl  with  dyed  hair  —  Miss  Clark  of 
Welland  Park  near  Pinchbroke. 

"Dying?" 

"  Yes.  The'o  wrote.  The  letter  came  this  morning. 
I  asked  her,"  the  kind  man  went  on,  "  if  she  did  n't  want 
to  put  off  the  dinner,  but  she  did  n't.  After  all,**  he 
added  cheerfully,  "  she  has  n't  seen  him  for  years." 

"  Oh,  that "  Tommy  began,  and  then  stopped 

short. 

"  Does  n't  matter,  you  mean  ?  Well,  Tommy,"  Ponte- 
fract  returned,  his  hand  on  Tommy's  shoulder,  "  you  are 
wrong.  Years  do  matter,  so  do  even  months.  She  — 
you  know  Brigit,  she  never  was  afraid  of  the  truth  — 
told  me  to-day  that  —  that  —  well,  he  was  the  only  one, 
really,  but  —  she  is  fonder  of  me  than  you  'd  think. 
She  saved  me,  for  one  thing." 

"  I  know." 

Pontefract's  protruding  eyes  followed  his  wife  with  a 
very  pathetic  expression  as  he  spoke.  "  I  don't  think 
she  's  unhappy,"  he  added. 

Tommy,  touched,  smiled  at  him. 

"  No  more  do  I,  Ponty.  She  is  certainly  very  fond 
of  you.  But  —  it  must  have  been  a  shock  to  her,  all  the 
same.  You  did  n't  know  him.  He  —  he  was  splendid ; 
I  loved  him  too." 

Then  he  crossed  the  room  and  slipped  his  arm  through 
his  sister's. 


234  KINGSMEAD 

"  You  have  heard,  dear  ?  "  she  asked,  walking  to  a 
window  with  him. 

"  Yes.    Ah,  Bick  —  it  is  sad " 

"  No.  It  is  —  good.  I  am  glad,  Tommy.  Theo  is 
there,  and  he  —  he  sent  me  this  —  and  oh,  Tommy,  his 
blessing.  The"o  wrote  that  he  mixed  me  up  with  his 
nieces  until  the  very  last,  and  then  he  remembered,  and 
—  begged  my  pardon,  and  said  it  was  all  his  fault.  And 
would  I  forgive  him  —  I !  —  and  —  would  I  wear  — 
this?" 

Tommy  remembered  the  big  diamond  ring  that  hung 
on  a  thin  chain  round  his  neck.  Joyselle  had  worn  it 
on  his  right  hand,  and  before  Brigit  and  he  had  known 
the  great  man  they  had  seen  the  thing  flash  on  his  finger 
as  he  played  in  the  concerts  which  were  then  driving 
sober-minded,  emotional  London  mad. 

«  Ah,  Bick  dear!" 

"  Yes,   Tommy  —  it  *s   Amen.      I  —  I   am   glad.      I 

could  n't  bear  to  think  of  his  suffering,  and  Theo  says 

he  does  n't  suffer  now.     It  —  is  a  beautiful  letter.     And 

—  it  was  wrong,  but  —  it  was  n't  wicked  in  itself,  dear. 

And  I  still  —  do,  you  know  —  I  always  shall." 

He  had  never  before  so  clearly  understood  her  lone- 
liness in  the  midst  of  her  luxurious  surroundings.  She 
had  not,  on  losing  the  man  she  loved,  turned  to  good 
works,  except  to  the  good  work  of  marrying  and  saving 
Pontefract;  she  had  lived  the  usual  life  of  people  of 
her  class,  travelling,  enjoying,  spending  money.  But 


KINGSMEAD  235 

Tommy  knew  now  that  she  had,  like  the  red  Indian  to 
whose  glorified  type  people  had  so  often  compared  her 
dark  beauty,  been  all  through  the  years  silently  endur- 
ing. Without  religion,  without  children,  without  vanity 
to  console  and  occupy  her,  the  woman  went,  and  would 
continue  to  go,  her  way,  stoically  enduring. 

"  Darling  old  girl,"  her  brother  began,  but  at  that 
minute  dinner  was  announced,  and  he  could  say  no  more. 
Tommy,  placed  between  Mrs.  Gilpin  and  a  young  man 
named  Boscawen,  a  cousin  of  Pontefract's,  was  very 
silent  during  the  first  part  of  the  meal,  while  his  sister 
and  Boscawen  talked  cheerfully  about  Pam  Lensky,  whom 
the  young  man  knew  and  liked,  while  Ponty,  delighted 
with  Mrs.  Gilpin,  as  he  had  been  during  his  short  stay 
at  Kingsmead,  was  telling  her  quite  frankly  how  pleased 
he  was  to  have  her  next  him  that  evening. 

"You  will  sing,  won't  you?"  he  added,  smiling  at 
her. 

"  Yes,  with  pleasure." 

She  wore  black,  and  Tommy  was  sorry,  for  he  loved 
her  best  in  white  and  grey.  But  at  her  throat,  hanging 
by  a  delicate  platinum  chain,  hung  a  large  pear-shaped 
diamond  which  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  which  gave 
her  a  quaintly  travestied  air,  as  of  a  nun  in  worldly 
attire.  *. 

"  Sing  the  song  about  the  wind  and  the  barley,"  went 
on  Ponty,  leaning  toward  her,  his  red  face  beaming. 

But  that  was  Teddy's  song  and  must  not  be  sung  in 
Teddy's  absence. 


236  KINGSMEAD 

"  No,  no,  Mrs.  Gilpin,"  broke  in  Tommy  abruptly, 
"  please  not  that  one.  Sing  the  Spanish  thing  about  the 
fan." 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

"Don't  you  like  the  Greek  song?"  she  asked,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  there  were  in  her  gentle  voice  a  hint  of 
reproach.  It  was,  she  seemed  to  mean,  her  favourite 
song;  did  he,  then,  not  like  it  too? 

"  I  like  it,  ah  yes,  I  did  n't  mean  that"  he  assured  her 
as  Pontef ract  turned  to  speak  to  Inez ;  adding  in  an 
undertone,  "  but  —  it  seems  like  Teddy's  song,  somehow. 
And  he,  poor  fellow,  is  not  here." 

To  his  great  happiness  her  pale  cheeks  flushed  a  deli- 
cate shell-pink  at  his  words  and  she  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  very  —  thoughtful,"  she  returned. 

"  Yes.  It  makes  me  happy  to  think  of  people  I  love, 
and  Teddy  —  gli  voglio  unfran  bene  I  bear  him,"  he 
translated,  whimsically,  "  a  great  good  will." 

She  did  not  look  up  in  answer,  but  the  shyness  in  her 
drooping  face  was  enough  to  satisfy  even  his  exigent 
loyalty. 

Boscawen's  voice,  as  he  talked  to  Brigit,  broke  the 
dreamy  spell  under  which  Tommy  sat  for  the  next  few 
minutes. 

"  It  was  a  very  brave  sight,"  Boscawen  was  saying. 
"  He  simply  sprang  under  the  great  horrible  thing  and 
dragged  the  child  back  into  safety.  It  was  a  miracle 
they  were  not  both  killed." 


KINGSMEAD  237 

Lady  Brigit,  her  most  beautiful  that  night,  an  un- 
usual look  of  softness  in  her  dark  eyes,  bowed  her  head. 

"  That  shows  that  people  are  not  so  bad  even  yet," 
she  answered.  "  I  don't  mean  you,  Hal,  of  course  — 
but  that  the  people  were  so  touched  by  it.  Even  very 
mean  people  seem  to  thrill  back  at  a  deed  of  great 
courage." 

"  Right,  my  dear,"  agreed  her  husband  eagerly.  "  I 
remember  a  chap  once  telling  me  about  an  escaped  con- 
vict, long  ago,  in  New  South  Wales,  coming  out  from 
his  hiding-place  in  a  barn  and  going  into  a  burning 
house  to  save  an  old  woman  who  was  bedridden.  The 
crowd  recognised  him  afterward,  but  they  never  laid  a 
finger  on  him  and  he  got  off  scot-free." 

Major  Portrush,  a  brown-faced  man  of  fifty,  sitting 
on  Lady  Pontefract's  right,  lifted  his  wine-glass  and 
looked  into  it  thoughtfully  for  a  moment. 

"  The  bravest  deed  I  ever  saw  done,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  was  in  India  —  in  a  little  battle  near  the  Afghanistan 
border."  Something  in  his  voice  was  very  arresting, 
and  Lady  Pontefract  turned  toward  him. 

"  Tell  us  the  story,"  she  commanded  gently. 

Dinner  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  little  pink  ices 
stood  before  each  guest. 

Major  Portrush  emptied  his  champagne-glass,  wiped 
his  large  moustache  with  an  upward  gesture,  and  began, 
amid  a  slight  silence  that  grew  in  intensity  as  he  went 
on,  until  the  whole  room  seemed  breathless. 


238  KINGSMEAD 

In  a  few  well-chosen  words  he  described  the  position 
of  the  lonely  little  border  stronghold,  the  long,  rather 
enervating  peace  that  had  lulled  the  suspicions  of  the 
men  within  it,  and  —  the  alarm  in  the  night. 

"  No  one  dreamed  of  an  attack,"  he  said  sternly,  all 
the  superficial  gaiety  gone  from  his  face;  "we  were  sup- 
posed to  be  on  peace  terms  with  the  prince,  who,  indeed, 
we  afterward  found,  was  altogether  against  rebellion, 
and  forced  to  it  by  rebellion  among  his  men. 

"  It  was  a  cold  night  —  we  were  very  high  up  —  and 
I,  for  one,  was  sound  asleep,  when  suddenly  the  buglers 
sounded  the  alarm. 

"  In  ten  minutes'  time  we  were  firing  down  into  a 
crowd  of  black  devils  mad  with  fighting,  and  utterly  un- 
afraid of  death.  There  were  between  thirty  and  forty 
of  them  to  one  of  us,  besides." 

Tommy  watched  the  story-teller  as  he  went  on,  his 
terse,  technical  details  brightened  and  warmed  by  his 
Irish  sense  of  words,  his  power  as  raconteur  stimulated 
and  strengthened  by  the  eager  attention  of  his  audience. 
The  room  was  vibratingly  silent  now,  and  the  little  pink 
ices,  like  forgotten  roses,  faded  unenjoyed. 

"  Suddenly,"  the  Irishman  went  on,  with  a  dramatic 
gesture  of  his  strong  brown  hands,  "  crack  —  the  flag- 
pole was  struck  and  down  it  hurtled  away  from  us 
among  those  devils.  One  of  our  men  —  a  soldier  —  ran 
down  and  opening  the  door  was  out  among  them  like  a 
shot.  He  was  drunk  with  blood  —  as  they  were,  the 


KINGSMEAD  239 

niggers.  And  just  as  he  reached  the  place  where  it  had 
fallen,  over  he  went,  struck  by  a  bullet." 

The  narrator  paused,  conscious  of  something  more, 
greater,  to  come.  Tommy,  glancing  to  his  left,  caught 
sight  of  Mrs.  Gilpin's  hands,  tight  clasped  on  the  edge 
of  the  table,  so  tightly  clasped  that  they  looked  blood- 
less and  stiff. 

Horrified  at  what  he  knew  she  must  be  suffering,  he 
was  about  to  speak,  when  Portrush,  now  with  a  strong 
brogue,  hurried  on,  telling  how  one  of  the  officers,  a 
cool-headed,  silent  man,  untouched  by  the  fever  of  battle 
that  had  urged  the  soldier  to  risk  his  life  so  uselessly, 
had  gone  down  among  the  fighting  quite  quietly,  and 
picking  the  wounded  man  in  his  arms,  started  back. 

"  The  niggers  were  driven  back  at  that  moment  by  a 
terrific  rain  of  fire  from  our  men,  but  it  was  only  for  a 
moment,  and  just  as  he  reached  the  door,  which  was 
ready  to  open  for  him,  down  he  went  on  his  face,  shot 
through  the  back,  God  save  him !  " 

Mrs.  Gilpin  was  as  white  as  the  table-cloth,  Tommy 
saw,  and  under  cover  of  the  exclamations  that  followed 
the  story,  Tommy  laid  his  hands  on  hers,  which,  still 
tightly  twisted,  now  lay  on  her  lap. 

"  Drink  some  wine,"  he  whispered.    "  I  am  so  sorry." 

"  Oh  yes,  dead  as  a  door-nail,"  finished  Portrush. 
"  We  buried  him  there  at  sunrise.  I  shall  never  forget 
his  dead  face.  Rather  fine  it  was.  He  had  a  great  scar 
on  one  cheek  that  had  always  rather  disfigured  him,  but 


240  KINGSMEAD 

after  his  death,  somehow,  it  did  n't  show.  At  least  it 
(Ed  n't  seem  to  matter.  His  name  was  Gilpin  —  Bill 
Gilpin  —  and  he  was  a  gunner." 

Everyone  started,  and  Lady  Brigit  hastily  rose,  with 
a  warning  glance  at  Portrush. 

Tommy  had  his  arm  round  Mrs.  Gilpin,  for  she  was, 
visibly,  barely  able  to  sit  upright. 

"  Damnation !  "  growled  poor  terrified  Pontefract 
under  his  breath.  "  I  say,  Brigit,  this  is  awful !  " 

Portrush  turned  helplessly  to  Inez,  who  stood,  as  she 
had  sat,  on  his  right.  "  What  is  the  matter?  " 

"  He  was  her  husband." 

"  Her  husband !    But " 

"  Hush !  "  said  Tommy  authoritatively.  "  Come, 
Ponty,  take  her  other  arm,  will  you?  " 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN  the  flower-filled  drawing-room  Nancy  Gilpin  soon 
recovered  herself.  Tommy,  forgetting  that  he,  as  a 
male  thing,  had  no  right  there  at  present,  sat  by  her 
couch  and  held  near  her  face  a  big  engraved  glass 
smelling-bottle,  while  Brigit  opened  a  window  and  let 
in  a  rush  of  cool  air. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  dear  Mrs.  Gilpin,"  Brigit  said  over 
and  over  again ;  "  the  poor  man  of  course  had  never 
caught  your  name." 

And  the  poor  Mignonette  Lady  smiled  tremulously 
and  answered,  each  time,  that  she  was  sorry  to  have 
been  so  weak. 

"  It  was  a  splendid  story,  though,"  suggested  Tommy 
at  last,  putting  down  his  smelling-bottle  and  gently 
chafing  one  of  her  cold  little  hands.  It  was  the  one 
with  the  wedding-ring  on  it,  and  he  thought,  as  he 
touched  it,  of  the  poor  hero  who  had  put  it  where  it 
was  and  then,  only  five  years  later,  ridden  blithely  away 
to  his  death. 

She  nodded.  "  Please  —  don't  talk  about  it,  Lord 
Kingsmead." 

So  he  stopped,  and  sat  silently  by  her  whom  he  felt 
to  be,  in  Teddy's  absence,  his  charge. 
16  241 


KINGSMEAD 

Brigit,  at  the  far  end  of  the  long  room,  stood  by  the 
fire  talking  to  Inez  and  smoking  a  cigarette.  The  win- 
dow was  still  open,  and  the  coolness  was  pleasant. 

On  the  low  chintz-covered  couch  Nanny's  little  black 
figure  lay  quite  quiet,  her  face  as  pale  as  the  pillow  on 
which  it  rested.  Only,  as  she  breathed,  the  great  dia- 
mond on  her  bosom  rose  and  fell,  sending  out  flashes 
of  crimson  and  green  fire. 

Tommy  was  greatly  distressed,  and  as  he  sat  there  his 
peace  became  gradually  disturbed  by  a  dreadful  fear. 
It  came  so  quietly,  the  fear,  with  the  relentlessness  of 
a  slowly  moving  great  force.  If  she  could  be  so  moved, 
after  nearly  five  years,  by  the  story  of  her  husband's 
death,  could  she  possibly,  he  wondered,  really  love  Teddy 
as  he  deserved?  And  if  not,  it  seemed  that  the  world 
would  come  to  a  piteous  end. 

It  is  hard  to  say  why  Kingsmead  loved,  as  he  certainly 
did  love,  young  Lansing.  Teddy  was  a  handsome,  truth- 
telling,  clean-lived  youth;  but  beyond  that  there  was 
little  to  be  said  about  him.  He  was  remarkable  in  no 
other  way  whatsoever,  and  what  is  more,  Tommy  realised 
it.  Yet  his  affection  for  his  friend  closely  approached 
adoration,  at  times,  even  while  he  perfectly  recognised 
Teddy's  limitations. 

And  as  he  sat  there  by  the  woman  Teddy  loved,  there 
began  in  his  breast,  even  while  he  gently  rubbed  her 
small  soft  hand,  something  very  like  resentment  against 
her  for  the  woe  she  might  be  going  to  work,  something 


KINGSMEAD  243 

curiously  akin  to  jealousy  of  the  poor  dead  man  for 
his  friend. 

He  was  glad  Teddy  had  not  been  there  that  night, 
and  yet  —  if  she  could  never  really  love  him,  he  might 
as  well  know  it. 

Suddenly,  without  moving,  Nanny  spoke. 

"  Do  not  be  angry,"  she  said,  very  low,  so  that  Lady 
Pontef ract  and  Miss  Lansing  did  not  hear  her.  "I  — 
I  could  not  help  it." 

Looking  at  her  he  saw  that  great  tears  stood  in  her 
eyes.  "  Oh,  I  —  am  not  angry,  please  don't  cry.  It  is 
only  that  —  that  —  that  —  it  all  went  with  him.  Oh, 
I  am  not  blind,  and  I  can  see." 

"  You  think  I  can  never  love  again.  Well,  you 
are  wrong.  I  love  now  far  more  than  I  ever  loved 
him." 

She  still  spoke  in  an  undertone,  but  the  intensity  in 
her  voice  was  such  that  he  turned,  half  alarmed,  toward 
the  others. 

"  I  loved  him,  yes,  but  —  that  is  over  and  gone,  that 
love.  It  is  dead.  And  this,"  she  laid  her  hand  on  her 
heart  with  the  gesture  of  a  child  or  a  very  great  actor, 
"  is  alive.  I  love  as  women  love,  not  as  children  do. 
Ah  yes,  I  love,  I  love,  I  love !  "  Rising  all  in  one  move- 
ment she  went  toward  Lady  Pontefract. 

Tommy  was  dazed,  and  the  backs  of  his  knees 
twitched,  as  was  always  the  case  with  him  when  he  was 
greatly  moved. 


244  KINGSMEAD 

She  was  splendid,  more  splendid  even  than  he  had 
dreamed.  And  Teddy  —  oh,  thrice  blessed  Teddy ! 

He  was  standing  looking  idly  and  quite  unseeingly  at 
a  little  ivory  idol  that  his  sister  had  brought  from  Kioto, 
when  the  other  men  came  in. 

Major  Portrush  joined  Tommy  at  once. 

"  I  say,"  he  began  abruptly,  "  I  am  awfully  sorry  to 
have  upset  Mrs.  Gilpin  so.  I  had  n't  heard  her  name, 
and  besides,  I  thought  his  wife  died  just  after  he  was 
killed.  I  do  feel  such  a  brute.  Will  you  tell  her  for  me 
some  time,  when  she  's  —  quieted  down  again  ?  Poor 
little  thing !  "  he  added  kindly.  "  I  have  his  watch,  by 
the  way,  and  must  give  it  to  her.  I  was  sent  off  just 
after  the  row,  you  see,  and  took  it  with  me.  Tried  to 
find  his  wife,  wrote  letters  and  all  that,  and  then  the 
story  got  about  that  she  was  dead.  The  watch  I  have 
locked  away  somewhere.  He  had  just  joined  us,  sold 
out  from  some  smart  regiment,  they  said,  because  he 
was  hard  up.  A  queer,  silent  chap,  who  never  mentioned 
his  own  affairs.  Afterward  —  no  one  was  ever  sure 
that  he  was  married,  though  some  of  us  had  heard  it 
from  outside  sources,  and  then  —  we  heard  she  had  died 
of  the  shock." 

Tommy  nodded. 

"  All  right,  I  '11  tell  her  some  time.  I  say  —  she  Js 
going  to  sing !  " 

And  she  was. 

Sitting  at  the  piano  she  struck  a  few  chords  sharply* 


KINGSMEAD  245 

as  if  to  attract  attention  to  her  song;  and  then,  to 
everyone's  amazement,  for  she  had  always  said  she 
played  badly,  broke  into  a  very  complicated  accompani- 
ment, which  she  played  with  remarkable  accuracy  and 
fire. 

It  was  an  Hungarian  song  full  of  rather  stereotyped 
surprises  in  harmony,  but  she  sang  it  well,  and  with  a 
greater  power  of  voice  than  any  of  them  had  ever  before 
known  her  to  possess. 

Then,  without  pausing,  she  began  the  Greek  song. 

Tommy  stood  facing  her,  and  she  seemed  to  be  looking 
with  her  wide-open  eyes  full  into  his  face. 

The  chill  air  from  the  open  window  blew  across  him, 
a  bowl  of  roses  smelled  strongly,  the  fire  snapped  quietly, 
and  the  audience  stood  listening  with  curious  intentness 
to  the  beautiful  little  song. 

"  Oh,  how  I  loved  thee,  Atthis !" 

How  he  had  loved  her,  the  dead  hero ;  how  she  had 
loved  him  —  "a  thousand  years  ago."  Tommy's  heart 
thumped  tremendously.  Yes,  to  all  intents  and  purposes 
it  had  been  a  thousand  years  ago,  for  there  had  been 
no  mistaking  the  passion  in  her  voice  when  she  said, 
"  I  love,  I  love,  I  love !  " 

And  now,  in  singing,  she  loved.  She  was  alive,  the 
little  quiet  creature,  every  fibre  of  her,  and  as  she  sang 
she  showed,  voluntarily,  proudly,  it  seemed,  a  side  of 
her  nature  that  he  had  never  seen  before. 

"  Did  we  falter  when  love  caught  us  in  a  gust  of  wild  desire  ?" 


246  KINGSMEAD 

Tommy's  eyes  glowed  as  he  watched  her,  for  he  knew 
she  would  not  falter. 

No,  she  would  not  falter.  This,  as  had  been  the  sight 
of  her  at  the  factory,  was  a  new  phase.  Tommy  had 
often  heard  her  sing,  but  always  to  the  romantic  soft 
chords  of  the  guitar,  and  it  had  seemed  an  old-fashioned, 
rather  quaint  little  accomplishment  —  the  echo,  almost, 
of  a  real  string  —  the  memory. 

It  seemed,  now,  as  if  that  other  singing  had  been  the 
reflection  of  her  love  for  her  dead  husband,  for  the  dead 
are  not  loved  as  the  living  are ;  it  was  a  tender  reminis- 
cence of  singing,  that  other,  a  mild  souvenir  of  finished 
things.  Whereas  this  was  pregnant  with  present 
emotion. 

The  thumping  of  Tommy's  heart  would  have  warmed 
an  older  man,  but  in  his  innocence  he  listened  full  of  j  oy 
for  his  friend. 

Her  heart  was  not  buried  there  in  the  little  hill  for- 
tress; it  was  living  and  beating  now  with  a  strong 
present  feeling.  She  loved,  and  her  song  was  ex- 
pressing without  reserve  the  force  and  vitality  of  her 
love. 

"  Did  the  barley  bid  the  wind  wait  in  its  course  ?" 

Everyone  listened  tensely,  and  when  she  had  finished 
her  song  she  played  on  for  a  moment,  and  then,  as  if 
irresistibly  impelled  to  do  it,  began  it  again: 

"  Oh,  how  I  loved  thee,  Atthis !" 


KINGSMEAD  247 

Tommy  glanced  at  his  sister.  Lady  Pontefract  sat 
in  a  high-backed  chair,  listening  with  bent  head.  Alas, 
poor  Brigit,  vivid  music  is  not  good  for  such  as  her. 

But  Tommy's  mind  was  at  that  moment  capable  of 
only  the  passing  tribute  of  the  thought. 

What  held  him  was  the  voice  at  the  piano  —  the  small, 
usually  so  reserved  face  against  the  background  of 
palms  and  ferns  —  Teddy's  Mignonette  Lady. 

No  one  in  the  world  was  at  that  moment  more  beauti- 
fully happy  than  Tommy,  in  his  unselfish  affection. 
And  then  it  happened,  the  inevitable.  Or  possibly,  he 
never  knew  which,  it  was  simply  that  he  at  that  moment 
realised  a  thing  that  had  happened  days  before  without 
his  knowledge. 

And  for  a  moment  he  caught  at  the  arms  of  the  chair 
in  which  he  sat,  and  held  his  breath  while  he  whirled 
through  horrid  black  space. 

It  was  very  awful,  and  it  took,  the  revelation,  this 
form.  He  saw,  as  if  some  malignant  hand  had  suddenly 
held  it  before  his  eyes,  a  photograph  that  Pammy  the 
inquisitive  had  brought  from  Mrs.  Gilpin's  room  to 
show  him. 

A  man's  face,  strong,  purposeful,  and  ugly. 

And  there  was  on  it  no  scar. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

KINGSMEAD  never  could  remember  which  of  the  two  great 
shocks  came  to  him  first,  as  Nancy  Gilpin  sang  the 
Greek  song:  the  knowledge  that  he  loved  her,  or  the 
knowledge  that  something  was  wrong,  that  she  was  not 
what  she  seemed. 

He  remembered  walking  out  of  the  open  window  into 
the  cold  garden  before  the  last  note  of  the  singing  voice 
had  died  away.  He  remembered  walking  very  briskly, 
as  though  he  had  something  important  to  do  there,  to 
the  East  Lodge,  quite  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
house.  He  remembered  going  slowly  back,  with  drag- 
ging feet,  to  get  his  coat  and  hat,  for  the  pitiful  reason 
that  he  knew  if  he  walked  home  without  them  he  would 
take  cold  and  be  ill.  He  remembered  sending  a  polite 
message  of  excuse  to  his  sister  by  the  butler.  And  — 
he  remembered  the  long  dark  walk  home  —  to  the  home 
that  was  his  by  tradition  and  love,  but  no  longer  his 
in  reality.  Many  slightest  details  of  his  walk  he  never 
forgot  —  the  clear  barking  of  a  distant  dog ;  the  strik- 
ing of  a  church  clock ;  a  motor  thundering  past  him. 

But  whether  he  first  knew  that  Nancy  Gilpin  was  a 
swindler,  or  that  he  loved  her  not  as  a  friend,  not  as  the 
future  wife  of  his  dearest  friend,  but  as  a  man  loves  the 

248 


KINGSMEAD  249 

woman  he  wants  for  his  own,  this  he  could  never 
decide. 

He  remembered  the  meeting  with  the  nurse  in  the  shop 
at  Ramsbury,  and  the  quiet  voice  in  which  Mrs.  Gil- 
pin  had  corrected  her :  "  My  name  is  not  Donovan." 
Donovan ! 

He  recalled  her  having  told  him  that  she  had  been 
married  at  seventeen,  and  her  subsequent  story  of  having 
been  a  trained  nurse  for  three  years. 

She  had  also  once  told  him  that  people  had  said  she 
married  "  him  "  for  money,  which  was  not  true,  and  on 
the  occasion  of  the  slip  about  the  nursing  she  had  said 
he  was  poor  at  the  time  of  their  marriage. 

He  had  not  noticed  those  discrepancies  before,  but 
now  he  recalled  them  with  cruel  distinctness  and  memory. 

All  little  slips  that,  singly,  might  have  been  explained 
away,  but  that  now,  facing  him  collectively,  in  a  solid 
phalanx  of  evidence,  were  utterly  convincing  and 
damning. 

What  the  truth  was  the  young  man  could  not  even 
guess.  It  might  be  anyone  of  several  hideous  possibil- 
ities that  swept  through  his  tortured  mind  as  if  taunt- 
ing him  with  the  easiness  with  which  they  become  facts. 

All  he  knew  was  that  in  some  way  or  other  his  Mignon- 
ette Lady,  Teddy's  love,  and  also  his  own  love  as  well 
now,  was  a  swindler. 

Beautiful  and  dear  as  she  was  to  him,  and  piteous 
though  she  seemed  in  her  smallness  and  quietness,  he  did 


250  KINGSMEAD 

not  even  attempt  to  find  for  her  a  milder  epithet  than 
that  odious  one  —  swindler.  She  had  become  known 
to  them  all  under  pretences ;  she  had  won  the  friendships 
of  Brigit,  of  the  Lansings,  the  Lenskys,  and  the  worldly- 
wise  old  Duchess.  Pranked  in  her  assumed  personality 
she  had  won  her  way  close  to  their  hearts,  and  she  was 
a  swindle. 

Worse,  she  had  gained  Teddy's  honest  young  love, 
and  Teddy  must  suffer. 

As  to  his  own  feelings  Tommy  was  as  yet  too  dazed 
to  think  much.  He  had  adored  her,  he  had  tried  to  be 
her  friend,  he  had  given  her  a  close  place,  as  Teddy's 
wife,  in  his  future. 

But  now  with  bewildering  and  cruel  enmeshment  he 
knew  her  to  be  not  the  self  he  had  known  —  she  was  a 
stranger,  an  unknown  person,  a  liar,  a  swindler.  And 
he  loved  her. 

Of  that  fact  there  was  no  doubt,  nor  did  he  attempt 
to  deny  it  in  his  own  mind,  any  more  than  he  attempted 
to  mitigate  her  crimes. 

It  was,  the  one  thing,  just  as  was  the  other. 

And  he  was  very  young,  little  Kingsmead,  and  his 
dream  of  love  had  been  to  him  a  most  holy  and  beautiful 
thing,  and  had  meant  much  to  him. 

Now,  at  a  blow  it  was  shattered,  killed  outright  before 
his  eyes,  for  instead  of  loving  the  wonderful  woman 
made  for  him,  he  loved  one,  he  knew,  all  unworthy. 

Sitting  in  his  room  he  heard  the  motor  come  in  and 


KINGSMEAD  251 

stop  at  the  door.  Then  he  heard  Mrs.  Gilpin's  voice, 
saying  good-night  to  Inez.  She  was  content  with  the 
evening,  she  believed  that  she  was  still  undetected. 

And  she  would  no  doubt  go  to  bed  and  dream  of 
Teddy.  Tommy  groaned  aloud. 

Poor  Teddy !  Yes,  and  poor  Nanny !  For  she  loved 
Teddy.  It  was  all  so  mixed! 

If  he  had  made,  he  now  began  to  realise,  one  discovery 
alone,  either  of  them,  it  would  have  been  so  much  easier 
to  bear.  If  he  had  suddenly  found  that  he  loved  Teddy's 
future  wife,  how  simply  he  could  have  gone  back  to  the 
Castelletto  to  fight  the  thing  down.  It  would  have  been 
hard,  but  his  course  would  have  been  so  obvious  that  it 
would  have  needed  no  reflection.  It  would  have  been 
like  a  hard  white  highroad  stretching  in  front  of 
him. 

Or  had  he  learned,  in  that  wonderful  moment  while 
she  sang,  only  that  she  was  not  herself,  not  the  self  he 
knew  and  had  believed  in,  then,  too,  things  would  have 
been  easier.  Teddy,  of  course,  must  not  be  allowed  to 
marry  a  swindler,  and  it  would  have  been  painful  to 
make  that  clear,  but  the  brutal  complications,  the  para- 
doxical difficulties,  would  not  so  have  torn  at  his  mind. 

It  was  one  o'clock  when,  at  last,  the  young  man  found 
himself  standing  by  the  open  window,  conscious  of  the 
night  and  the  time. 

For  nearly  two  hours  he  had  been  tramping  up  and 
down  his  room.  He  was  very  tired,  and  he  was  cold, 


KINGSMEAD 

for  his  fire  had  long  since  died  to  a  mere  wreath  of 
palely  gloomy  embers.  Closing  the  window  he  went  to 
the  fireplace  and  looked  down  at  it.  There  was  wood 
in  plenty  in  the  box  on  his  right,  but  nothing  to  kindle 
it  with. 

Suddenly  he  saw  on  his  table  a  letter  addressed 
by  him  to  Teddy,  which  he  had  forgotten  to  have 
posted. 

It  was  a  very  pale  and  grim  Tommy  who  tore  the 
close-written  sheets  out  of  their  envelope,  a  Tommy 
whose  face  seemed  to  have  suddenly  grown  older;  from 
which  something,  not  quite  youth,  but  something  con- 
tained in  the  essence  of  youth,  had  quite  gone.  If  the 
Duchess  had  been  there  she  would  have  told  him  that 
he  looked  at  that  moment  like  his  paternal  grandmother, 
the  Lady  Kingsmead  who,  someone  said,  had  never  for- 
given her  husband  for  a  love-affair  that  he  had  had,  in 
a  joyous,  absent-minded  way.  The  story  went  that 
although  she  lived  under  his  roof  without  scandal,  until 
his  death,  fifteen  years  after  the  love-affair,  she  had  in 
all  that  time  never  addressed  one  word  to  him  when  they 
were  alone  together. 

And  Tommy,  as  he  reread  the  letter  he  had  written 
that  very  morning  to  his  absent  friend,  looked  like  this 
obstinate  and  relentless  old  woman. 

"  DEAR  LANNER  :  I  was  awfully  sorry  not  to  find  you  here 
last  night,  though  I  'm  sure  you  did  well  in  going,  and  I  was 
not  the  only  disappointed  one. 


KINGSMEAD 

"We  got  back  at  six,  after  two  pauses,  and  she  was  very 
tired.  I  wish,  dear  old  chap,  that  you  could  have  seen  her 
there,  at  the  factory.  So  little  and  lovely  and  delicate-looking, 
her  beautiful  white  dress  quite  forgotten,  as  she  helped  the 
doctor  dress  wounds,  the  awfulness  of  which  I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of,  even  now.  She  was  so  gentle,  so  capable  and  un- 
afraid. I,  wretched  little  nuisance,  did  my  best,  but  it  was  a 
poor  best,  and  at  last,  when  the  work  was  done,  I  toppled  over 
in  a  faint,  and  they  got  me  to  the  doctor's  house  before  I  came 
to.  All  right  again,  now,  however.  .  .  . 

"  I  am  glad  I  was  there,  Teddy.  It  was  a  privilege  to  see 
her.  It  is  a  privilege  to  know  her,  and  I  can't  tell  you  how 
happy  it  makes  me  to  think  of  her  marrying  you.  You  are 
very  fortunate,  for  there  surely  is  no  one  so  good  and  so  dear 
in  the  world.  .  .  . 

"  But  here  I  am  orating,  and  it  will  bore  you.  I  am  writ- 
ing in  bed,  and  must  get  up.  Come  back  soon.  I  miss  you. 
Also  —  when  you  do  come,  don't  waste  any  more  time.  I  am 
sure  she  cares  for  you. 

"  Yours, 

«  rp  » 

Thus  the  letter,  read  slowly  with  that  grim  smile  of 
the  grandmother  he  had  never  seen.  He  could,  it  was 
clear,  never  forgive  her.  Just  as  he  never  paltered 
about  his  love  for  her,  he  never  paltered  about  her 
unforgivableness. 

Making  long  twists  of  the  two  sheets-  of  his  letter  he 
inserted  them  delicately  under  a  rough,  dry  bit  of  wood 
that  he  chose  from  the  box,  and  set  a  flaming  match  to 
the  paper.  He  watched  it  gravely  while  it  flickered  and 
finally  caught  the  loose  mossy  back  of  the  log  and  settled 
on  it.  Then  going  to  a  corner  he  brought  back  a  long 


254  KINGSMEAD 

box  which  he  opened  and  from  which  he  took  a  violin, 
unstrung  and  unused-looking. 

There  was  a  bearskin  rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  and 
lying  down  on  it,  the  violin  in  one  arm,  he  closed  his 
eyes  and  tried  to  rest. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"  MRS.  GILPIN  expects  me." 

Mrs.  Gilpin's  pretty  parlour-maid  stepped  aside  and 
let  him  enter,  and,  when  he  had  taken  off  his  damp  coat, 
led  him  upstairs.  It  was  two  days  after  the  dinner  at 
Pomfret  Abbey,  but  Tommy  had  not  seen  Mrs.  Gilpin 
since  he  walked  away  from  her  singing  voice  that 
evening. 

The  following  day  he  had  stayed  in  his  room,  say- 
ing, with  truth,  that  he  was  not  well;  and  when  she 
went  back  to  Greene  after  lunch  he  had  sent  word  by 
a  footman  to  ask  if  he  might  call  on  her  the  next 
afternoon. 

The  maid,  opening  the  drawing-room  door,  announced 
him,  and  then  closing  the  door  on  him,  left  them  alone. 

It  was  a  desolate,  rain-drenched  day,  but  the  long 
white  room  with  its  bowls  of  mignonette  and  its  delicate 
silken  curtains  looked  very  cheery  in  its  slightly  prim 
way.  There  was  a  bright  fire,  —  and  what  would  Eng- 
land be  without  her  open  fires  ?  —  and  Mrs.  Gilpin  her- 
self, all  in  grey,  with  her  little  mirror  flashing  as  she 
rose  to  greet  him,  looked  a  personification  of  picturesque 
domesticity. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  she  said. 

255 


256  KINGSMEAD 

Tommy  looked  at  her  very  gravely.  He  loved  her  and 
she  was  a  swindler.  She  was  a  swindler  and  he  loved  her. 

There  was  something  rather  awful  in  the  adamantine 
irreconcilability  of  these  two  facts. 

"  Why,"  he  asked  in  a  quiet  voice,  "  have  you  lied  to 
us  all?" 

For  a  moment  she  stared  at  him  as  if  she  did  not 
understand.  Then  a  little  smile  stirred  her  pink  lips. 

"  I  am  glad  you  know,"  she  said,  her  voice  as  even  as 
his.  The  clock  struck  three  as  she  spoke  —  a  cheerful, 
silver-toned  little  clock  it  was.  Tommy  turned  and 
looked  at  it  as  if  it  had  been  an  intrusive  human  being. 

"  Sit  down."  Mrs.  Gilpin,  as  she  spoke,  sat  down 
herself,  and  took  up  her  work,  a  long,  delicate  white  seam 
of  some  kind.  Her  cotton  had  slipped  from  the  eye  of 
her  needle  when  she  rose,  and  the  needle  lay,  a  narrow 
flash  of  light,  on  the  rug  before  her. 

Tommy  leaned  down  and  picked  it  up,  and  while  with 
trembling  hands  she  rethreaded  it,  he  drew  closer  to  the 
fire  one  of  the  slim-legged  little  chairs  and  sat  down. 

"  How,"  she  began,  looking  at  him,  "  did  you  find 
out?" 

"  Through  —  Portrush's  story  —  and  something  he 
said  later.  Then,  while  you  were  singing,"  he  went  on, 
telling  his  tale  quite  simply,  "  it  —  came  over  me.  I 
remembered  the  photograph  you  showed  me " 

"  Yes.  There  was  no  scar.  I  was  foolish  to  keep  the 
photograph,  but  —  I  loved  him." 


KINGSMEAD  257 

There  was  another  pause,  while  she  stitched  daintily 
at  her  transparent  frill. 

"It  —  isn't  your  real  name,  I  suppose?"  he  asked 
suddenly. 

"  No.  I  never  set  eyes  on  Bill  Gilpin.  But  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  the  whole  story  now.  You  are  probably 
imagining  all  sorts  of  things  that  are  n't  true." 

"  I  am  trying  not  to  imagine  —  anything.  And  I 
should  like  to  know  the  truth.  If  you  —  lie  to  me  now," 
he  added,  his  lip  quivering  for  a  second,  "  I  shall  know 
it." 

"  I  will  not  lie  to  you  now.  And  believe  me,  I  am 
really  almost  glad  to  tell  you  the  truth.  I  have  minded 
that  part,  deceiving  you." 

"All  right.    Goon." 

He  did  not  know  how  grave,  how  inexorable  he  looked 
as  he  sat  there  in  his  little  chair,  but  his  graveness,  his 
inexorability  were  very  great,  and  she  knew  it. 

"  Then,"  she  began,  plunging  boldly  into  the  middle 
of  her  story,  "  I  never  have  been  married  to  anyone, 
and  my  name  is " 

"  Aileen  Donovan." 

"  Ah,  you  remember.  Yes,  Aileen  Donovan.  Poor 
Jessie  West !  How  well  I  remember  her  —  and  the  rest, 
at  Bart's.  Well,  my  father  was  an  Irish  vet,  and  my 
mother  was  a  lady.  Never  mind  her  name.  He  died 
when  I  was  about  twelve,  and  we  lived  until  I  was  seven- 
teen at  a  little  place  near  Down.  Then  —  she  died. 
17 


258  KINGSMEAD 

She  died  very  suddenly,  and  there  was  no  money.  The 
clergyman  there,  a  nice  old  man,  got  me  some  music- 
pupils  —  my  mother  was  a  musician  and  had  taught  me 
well  —  and  then,  for  it  bored  me,  the  life  there,  got  me  in 
at  Bart's.  I  was  there  one  year,  after  my  probation  was 
over,  and  I  liked  it.  I  like  sick  people  and  they  like  me. 

"  One  day,"  she  was  still  sewing  placidly,  "  I  got  into 
a  row  with  one  of  the  surgeons,  and  was  sent  away.  So 
I  went  back  —  home  —  and  was  stopping  there  quietly 
at  the  inn,  which  was  kept  by  an  old  servant  of  ours, 
until  I  could  decide  what  to  do. 

"  And  —  he  came.  I  '11  not  tell  you  his  name.  He 
was  —  still  is,  I  dare  say  —  a  stock-broker,  and  rich. 
But  that  did  n't  matter.  I  loved  him,  and  he  loved  me. 
I  was  a  perfectly  good  girl,  and  he  knew  it,  and  he  said 
he  'd  marry  me. 

"  We  went  to  London  and  —  he  gave  me,"  she  added 
with  great  distinctness,  "  a  little  flat  in  Baker  Street. 
He  gave  me  clothes,  and  jewels,  and  anything  I  wanted, 
but  he  would  not  marry  me,  now  that  he  had  got  me,  and 
I  could  n't  go  away,  because  I  loved  him.  He  was,"  she 
added,  "  very  good  to  me." 

She  had  stopped  sewing  now,  and  her  hands  were 
clasped  on  her  work. 

"  Then  —  well,  there  's  no  use  in  going  into  details  — 
he  married.  But  he  gave  me  enough  money  to  have 
always  two  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  he  bought  me 
this  house." 


KINGSMEAD  259 

"Oh,"  groaned  Tommy,  "how  could  you?" 

She  looked  at  him,  a  little  tender,  almost  pitying  smile 
on  her  lips.  "  How  could  I  not?  I  was  hurt  to  death, 
and  I  wanted  to  be  alone,  and  —  not  to  do  the  usual 
thing." 

"  The  usual  thing?  " 

"  Yes,  go  from  bad  to  worse.  I  did  not  want  to  do 
that.  I  was  ill,  too,  —  oh,  quite  in  the  romantic  way,  — 
for  a  long  time.  Then  I  found  the  deeds  and  so  on  of 
the  house,  which  he  had  not  mentioned  to  me.  It  was 
a  kind  thought." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  since?  " 

She  raised  her  eyes,  her  beautiful  clear  eyes,  to  his. 
"  Never.  We  should  neither  of  us  wish  to.  Well  —  that 
is  all  there  is  to  that  part  of  the  story." 

"  Yes.  And  now,"  his  voice  was  grim,  "  tell  me  how 
that  poor  dead  man  came  into  it." 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

Her  calmness,  as  free  from  the  affectation  of  amuse- 
ment or  carelessness  as  from  any  real  nervousness,  was, 
he  vaguely  realised,  amazing. 

She  sat  there  in  her  low  chair  as  serenely,  in  spite  of 
the  little  touch  of  shyness  that  he  had  never  seen  leave 
her  save  among  the  wounded  people  at  Ramsbury,  as 
if  his  visit  had  been  a  most  ordinary  one ;  as  though  she 
had  not  been  caught  in  a  situation  which  she  must  know 
would  forever  bar  her  out  from  the  man  she  loved. 

It  was,  in  its  way,  very  admirable,  her  undemonstra- 


260  KINGSMEAD 

tive  courage,  and  he  knew  it,  her  relentless  young  judge, 
yet  he  had  no  mercy  in  his  heart. 

"  Yes,  that  is  another  story,"  she  began  softly. 
"  You  see,  I  was  badly  hurt.  And  I  wanted  solitude. 
And  —  I  wanted  to  be  good.  Well  —  I  had  lived  then 
in  London,  under  my  own  name,  only  —  as  —  as  — 
Mrs." 

At  this,  for  the  first  time,  she  faltered,  and  her  white 
eyelids  quivered  a  little. 

"  So  —  when  it  was  finished,  and  —  I  was  beginning 
over  —  I  wanted  a  new  name.  And  I  happened  to  find, 
while  I  was  —  packing  —  an  old  newspaper  with  the 
story  in  it.  The  story  of  Captain  Gilpin,  as  Major 
Portrush  told  it  the  other  night.  The  article  told  that 
he  was  —  quite  alone  in  the  world,  so  far  as  people 
knew,  and  that  his  wife  died  at  Udaipur  several  days 
after  the  battle.  She,  too,  came,  the  newspaper  said, 
from  no  one  knew  where.  They  seemed  to  be  as  lonely, 
as  —  as  unbelonging  as  I  myself.  Even  her  death  was 
not  announced  as  a  positive  fact.  They  seemed  like 
dream  people.  He  had  joined  the  regiment  only  a  short 
time  before,  and  no  other  Gilpins  claimed  him,  so  that 
even  his  watch  was  kept  by  Major  Portrush.  It 
seemed,"  she  went  on  quietly,  "  a  lonely  story  —  as  if 
they  might,  being  so  lonely  themselves,  have  forgiven 
me.  And  so  —  it  was  n't  a  prominent  story  —  I  looked 
it  up  in  the  papers  and  it  was  only  very  briefly  men- 
tioned —  I  decided  to  —  to  be  his  widow. 


KINGSMEAD  261 

"  And  I  have  been  his  widow.  I  have  lived  here  quite 
quietly  ever  since.  I  am,  you  see,  a  home  body  by 
nature,  so  it  has  been  very  easy." 

This,  Tommy  knew,  was  all  true. 

Gullible  as  he  had  been  before,  his  wits  were  now 
sharpened  to  an  almost  uncanny  acuteness,  and  he  knew 
that  she  had  not  lied  in  the  slightest  particular.  She 
was,  as  she  said,  he  felt,  looking  at  her  sitting  by  her 
hearth-fire,  essentially  a  home  body. 

The  pity  of  it ! 

Rising,  he  went  to  the  nearest  window  and  stood 
looking  out  into  the  grey,  rainy  afternoon.  As  he  stood 
there  the  clock  struck  four. 

"  That 's  all,"  she  said  presently. 

"  Yes.    I  am  convinced  of  that." 

She  rose  and  coming  close  to  him  looked  into  his  eyes 
with  her  serene  yet  half-shy  gaze. 

"  You  will  not  betray  me?  "  she  asked. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"  BETRAY  you  ?  Of  course  I  won't.  You  need  n't  fear 
that,"  he  returned,  not  even  attempting  to  conceal  in 
his  voice  the  contempt  that  surged  up  in  him  at  the 
question. 

But  her  eyes  were  still  dark  with  anxiety.  "  I  did  n't 
think  you  'd  —  put  it  into  the  papers,"  she  went  on,  her 
hands  lightly  clasped  in  front  of  her.  "  I  mean  —  you 
will  not  tell  —  Teddy." 

He  stepped  back  and  looked  at  her  from  a  little 
distance,  as  if  she,  as  well  as  his  mind,  needed 
focussing. 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  I  leave  to  you." 

For  the  first  time  her  high  courage  faltered,  and  one 
of  her  hands  went  quickly  to  her  throat  as  though  she 
could  not  breathe. 

"Tome!" 

"  Yes." 

"  But,  Lord  Kingsmead,  there  is  no  necessity  for  his 
knowing.  What  good  could  it  do  ?  "  she  asked,  coming 
toward  him,  sincere  wonder  in  her  face.  "  It  would  only 
hurt  him." 

Tommy's  stare  was  as  sincere  as  her  own,  for  he  rec- 
ognised the  utter  lack  of  comprehension  of  his  view-point 

262 


KINGSMEAD  263 

and  saw  that  he  must  explain.  They  were  speaking  in 
different  moral  tongues. 

"  Listen,  Mrs.  Gilpin,"  he  began  with  a  new  gentle- 
ness, as  of  a  patient  missionary  explaining  the  story 
of  the  Cross  to  a  savage,  "  you  don't  understand.  Won't 
you  sit  down,  please,  and  I  will  try  to  make  you." 

Obediently  she  sank  into  the  chair  she  had  vacated, 
and  sat  looking  inquiringly  at  him. 

"  You  surely,"  he  began  unsparingly,  but  still  with 
the  gentle  look  in  his  eyes,  "  cannot  expect  to  marry 
Teddy  now?  " 

"  Yes.  Why  not?  No  one  but  you  knows.  No  one 
need  ever  know." 

"Why  not,  you  ask?  But  —  don't  you  realise  that 
you  have  done  a  terrible  thing  in  deceiving  us  all  —  in 
winning  his  love  under  false  pretences  ?  " 

She  flushed  with  a  little  proud  movement  of  her  head. 

"  *  Winning  '  implies  an  effort,  Lord  Kingsmead.  I 
made  no  effort  to  make  him  love  me.  For  a  long  time  I 
did  n't  even  see  that  he  did." 

"  That  may  be.  But  don't  you  see  that  he  loves  — 
Mrs.  Gilpin  —  a  —  a  widow  with  —  "  it  was  bitterly 
hard  work,  and  he  stumbled  over  the  ungracious  words, 
but  went  on  doggedly  —  "  with  an  honest  record?  He 
did  not  even  know  —  Aileen  Donovan." 

She  winced,  but  he  could  see  with  his  painful  pre- 
science that  it  was  at  his  voice  more  than  at  the  meaning 
of  his  words. 


264  KINGSMEAD 

"  He  never  will  know  Aileen  Donovan,"  she  said.  "  I 
have  n't  a  relative  in  the  world,  and  no  one  will  ever  ques- 
tion his  wife." 

Tommy  crossed  his  legs  impatiently. 

"  Oh,  this  is  awful !  "  he  burst  out.  "  It  would  be 
ridiculous  if  it  were  not  terrible.  You  can't  marry  him, 
that 's  all.  If  you  can't  make  up  your  mind  to  tell  him 
the  truth,  you  must  just  go  away  —  disappear." 

"  But  I  can't.  Where  could  I  go  ?  This  is  my  home. 
I  love  it.  And  besides,"  she  added  gently,  with  a  little 
coaxing  smile,  "  I  am  not  bad.  I  will  not  hurt  him.  I 
have  never  hurt  anyone  in  my  life." 

Through  Tommy's  whirling  brain  came  a  bar  or  two 
of  beautiful  music  —  the  phrase  in  "  Tosca  "  where  the 
suffering  woman  says 

"Vissi  d'arte,  vissi  d'amore, 
Non  fici  male  ad  anima  viva"  — 

that  she  lived  in  her  art,  in  her  love,  and  never  had  hurt 
a  living  soul.  It  is  a  pathetic  bit  of  melody,  tender  and 
haunting,  and  as  the  distressing  interview  went  on  it 
seemed  to  echo  and  re-echo  in  the  quiet  room  as  if  a 
heart-broken  voice  were  singing  it  in  the  distance. 

"  I  believe  that  you  have  not  hurt  people,  that  you  are 
kind,"  he  answered,  using  the  phrase  she  had  more  than 
once  applied  to  him,  "  but  all  that  does  not  help.  You 
must  see  —  I  must  make  you  see  that  you  cannot  marry 
Teddy." 


KINGSMEAD  £65 

"  That,"  she  answered  with  a  ghost  of  her  wistful 
smile,  "  is  what  no  one  can  make  me  see." 

Tommy  was  for  the  moment  at  a  loss.  Had  she  met 
him  with  irony,  with  tears,  with  indifference,  he  would,  he 
thought,  have  been  able  to  cope  with  her ;  but  this  atti- 
tude of  gentle  misunderstanding  puzzled  him  utterly.  It 
was  half-past  four. 

In  the  silence  Mrs.  Gilpin  put  out  her  hand  and  touched 
the  bell  by  the  fireplace. 

"  Tea,  please,  Carson,"  she  said  pleasantly  to  the 
parlour-maid,  and  then,  as  the  door  closed,  she  added 
to  Tommy,  "  Tea  will  help  us  think,  it  clears  the 
brain." 

But  whatever  tea  might  do  to  the  brain,  his  head  for 
the  moment  seemed  a  whirling  confusion  of  infant 
thoughts  struggling  for  growth  into  comprehensive 
manhood. 

Rising  he  went  into  the  little  conservatory  and  stood, 
his  hands  in  his  jacket  pockets,  before  the  fuchsia,  whose 
graceful  little  bells,  stirred  by  the  gusts  of  rain  blown 
against  the  glass  walls  by  the  rising  wind,  seemed  to  be 
playing  a  little  mocking  carillon  to  him.  "  Ah,"  he 
thought,  with  a  consciousness  of  his  disabling  youth  very 
unusual,  "  if  I  were  only  older !  " 

When  the  tea  was  brought  in  he  took  quite  mechanic- 
ally the  carefully  prepared  cup  she  gave  him,  and  bal- 
anced on  his  thin  knee  a  tiny  flowered  plate  of  bread  and 
butter. 


266  KINGSMEAD 

"  Try  to  eat,"  she  said  kindly,  her  eyes  almost  mater- 
nal in  their  gentle  anxiety ;  "  you  look  tired  out." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  not  tired.  I  am  — 
troubled.  I  hate  to  hurt  you,  yet  there  are  things  that 
must  be  said " 

"  Say  them,  Lord  Kingsmead,  say  them.  Only  if  you 
think  me  a  bad  woman,  you  are  wrong.  I  am  not  bad. 
I  —  I  loved  him.  Not  as  I  love  now,"  she  added,  as  if 
touched  by  a  leaping  flame  of  feeling,  "  ah  no !  But  — 
I  was  very  young,  and  lonely,  and  he  loved  me,  and  was 
good  to  me.  I  was  good  to  him,  too." 

She  sipped  her  tea  as  she  spoke,  her  small  face  still 
flushed  by  the  touch  of  the  flame,  the  delicate  shell-like 
flush  that  was  to  him  so  marvellously  beautiful,  but 
her  hand  was  quite  steady,  her  brow  as  smooth  as  a 
child's. 

"  You  see  I  met  many  men  while  I  was  with  him.  He 
used  to  bring  them  to  dine.  And  —  they,  like  you, 
did  n't  understand.  I  know  that  more  than  one  of  them 
—  cared  for  me.  Yet  because  I  cared  for  him  so  much, 
not  one  of  them  ever  dared  to  try  to  show  me,  even  with- 
out words  —  my  loyalty  was  such  that  it  made  them 
loyal,  and  they  all  treated  me  just  as  if  I  had  been  his 
wife. 

"  Later,  too,  when  he  began  to  tire  of  me  (it  was  not 
his  fault,  it  was  because  I  am  so  —  quiet  and  stay-at- 
home),  I  was  good  to  him.  I  never  let  him  see  how  it 
hurt.  He  never  knew,  even  at  the  last.  He  had  been 


KINGSMEAD  267 

good  to  me,  and  it  would  have  been  unfair  to  make 


scenes 


Tommy  set  down  his  cup  with  a  little  crash. 

"  Damn  the  fellow !  "  he  cried  fiercely.  "  He  should 
have  married  you." 

She  smiled  at  him,  her  eyes  bright  with  gratification. 

"  Yes,  he  should  have.  He  was  not  very  good,  per- 
haps, but  he  was  good  to  me  in  everything  but  that.  So 
when  he  left  me  I  just  said  good-bye  to  him  and  let 
him  go." 

It  was  a  strange  little  story,  strangely  told,  and  it 
took  a  sharp  effort  on  Tommy's  part  to  turn  his  mental 
back  to  that  aspect  of  the  case  and  again  face  the  imme- 
diate future. 

"  I  am  deeply  sorry  for  you,"  he  said  slowly,  "  please 
believe  that.  Please  believe,  too,  that  the  whole  thing  — 
hurts  me  horribly.  But  —  I  must  also  make  you  see 
that  —  Teddy  must  not  marry  you." 

"  No." 

Her  delicate  pink  mouth  set  firmly  as  she  spoke,  and 
she  rose.  "  I  am,  in  spite  of  everything,  a  good  woman, 
and  I  can  make  him  happy  and  do  him  good  as  no  one 
else  could.  You  know  that  as  well  as  I." 

Her  words  were  very  arresting,  for  in  his  mind  he  was 
forced  to  acknowledge  that  she  would  do  Teddy  good. 
Teddy  was  a  rather  vacillating  nature,  he  was  lazy,  he 
needed  a  goad,  an  impetus.  And  Nancy  Gilpin,  as  she 
remained  to  Tommy,  would  be  those  things,  and  bring 
out  all  the  good  that  lay  in  him. 


268  KINGSMEAD 

Ah,  if  only  she  had  been  Nancy  Gilpin,  the  brave  Bill 
Gilpin's  widow,  how  comparatively  easy  it  would  have 
been  for  Tommy  to  see  her  his  friend's  wife! 

As  it  was,  he  knew,  with  the  deep,  unwavering  convic- 
tion of  what  was  right  and  what  was  wrong  that  had 
been  born  in  him,  that  he  could  not  allow  the  marriage. 

It  was  a  horrid  gibe  of  fate,  that  of  forcing  him  of 
all  people  into  the  position  of  judge  in  the  matter,  but 
here  he  was,  and  he  must  do  his  best. 

"  You  cannot  marry  Teddy,"  he  said  abruptly,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet.  "  You  are,  God  help  you,  not  a  fitting 
wife  for  him." 

"  Then,"  she  answered,  "  you  do  think  me  bad." 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  but  she  saw  that  his  eyes 
were  swimming  with  tears. 

"  I  am  just  what  you  have  seen,"  she  pleaded,  stand- 
ing close  to  him  but  still  keeping  all  her  curious  remote- 
ness that  had  seemed  to  him  so  beautiful.  "  I  am  —  the 
quiet  little  woman  living  alone,  seeing  few  people,  never 
talked  about  —  doing  no  harm  —  respecting  herself  and 
others " 

But  his  racked  nerves  could  bear  no  more. 

"  I  know  all  that,"  he  cried  roughly,  the  tears  now 
rolling  down  his  cheeks,  "  but  you  were  a  man's  paid 
mistress  and  you  are  still  living  on  his  money.  Now 
do  you  understand  ?  " 

Her  face  ash-white,  her  lips  parted  with  a  look  almost 
one  of  stupidity,  she  stared  at  him. 


KINGSMEAD  269 

"Oh!"  she  said. 

"  Yes !  I  —  I  hate  myself  for  hurting  you.  Take 
your  choice  about  —  about  telling  him,  or  —  going  away. 
If  you  go  away  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  I  '11  never 
tell  him.  And  you  see  —  I  trust  you  not  to  —  to  fool 
me  again  —  which  will  you  do?  " 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  then  she  said,  twisting 
the  chain  of  her  little  hand-glass  so  tightly  round  her 
hands  that  they  were  red  and  swollen,  "  I  will  do  neither. 
You  are  good  and  kind,  and  I  —  I  like  you,  Lord  Kings- 
mead,  but  you  are  only  a  boy.  I  am  older  than  you,  and 
I  know  that  —  I  shall  be  able  to  do  him  good.  I  will 
marry  him." 

She  spoke  quite  firmly,  and  he  saw  that  the  twisting 
of  her  hands  meant  determination,  not  nervousness. 

"You  mean  that?"  he  asked,  suddenly  very  stern 
though  his  white  cheeks  were  still  wet. 

« I  do." 

"  Then  —  good-bye.  I  am  going  back  to  Kingsmead 
to  tell  him  myself." 

"  Surely,"  she  protested,  "  you  will  not  do  that.  It 
would  be  —  betraying  me." 

"  If  I  did  n't  I  should  be  betraying  him." 

"But-    -" 

"  There  are  n't  any  '  buts,'  Mrs.  Gilpin.  Oh,"  he  burst 
out,  "  can't  you  see?  You  have  n't  even  a  name !  " 

Even  then  she  was  not  angry.  Instead  of  anger  or 
fear  there  was  in  her  eyes  the  strange  look  of  wonder. 


270  KINGSMEAD 

He  puzzled  her,  quite  evidently,  as  much  if  not  more 
than  she  puzzled  him. 

"  Listen,"  he  said  gently,  "I  —  it  makes  me  very 
miserable,  but  won't  you  try  to  see?  I  'm  not  a  prig, 
but " 

She  smiled  faintly  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  No, 
you  are  not  a  prig.  How  —  how  young  of  you  to  think 
of  that!  But  you  are  —  just  that.  So  young!  You 
don't  understand.  You  see,  I  am  j  ust  what  you  thought 
me.  I  am  me  —  and  he  loves  me,  and  I  shall  help  him. 
Can't  you  see  that  ?  " 

Tommy  groaned.  "  But  you  are  not  what  he  thought. 
That  is  just  what  is  so  awful.  I  know  he  loves  you,  God 
help  him,  and  I  know  that  you  love  him.  And  that  is 
why  you  must  tell  him." 

"  I  will  not  tell  him." 

The  corners  of  her  mouth  set  hard,  but  her  eyebrows 
did  not  stir,  and  she  continued  to  look  at  him  with  the 
strange  tranquillity  so  characteristic  of  her. 

"You  refuse?" 

"  I  do,"  she  answered. 

"  Then,"  Tommy  declared,  drawing  a  deep  breath 
that  seemed  to  move  his  heart  several  inches,  "  I  will. 
Good-bye." 

Without  a  protest  from  her,  or  an  instant's  hesitation 
on  his  part,  he  left  the  room  and  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IT  must  be  remembered  that  Tommy  Kingsmead  at  this 
crisis  was  only  three-and-twenty ;  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  he  had  just  awakened  to  the  fact  that  he 
loved  Nancy  Gilpin;  it  must  be  remembered  that  he 
was  a  reverent,  passionately  idealistic  youth,  and  that 
at  the  very  moment  of  his  realisation  of  his  love  for  the 
gentle  woman  he  had  worshipped  ever  since  he  knew 
her,  had  come  the  realisation  that  she  was  unworthy  of 
his  love. 

He  was,  as  he  left  the  house,  quite  forgetting  the 
motor  in  which  he  had  come,  the  chauffeur  of  which  was 
at  that  moment  being  pampered  with  port  and  cakes  in 
the  kitchen,  in  a  mental  turmoil  that,  luckily,  few  young 
men  can  even  conceive  of. 

Tramping  doggedly  along  through  the  wet  even- 
ing, over  mile  after  mile  of  muddy,  slippery  road,  his 
wheeling  thoughts,  so  tumultuous  at  first,  gradually 
quieted  down  to  a  dead-level  of  patiently  accepted 
misery. 

That  he  must,  added  to  all  his  other  suffering,  add 
the  horror  of  telling  the  dreadful  story  to  Teddy,  had 
seemed  at  first  almost  unbearable ;  but  Tommy,  despite 
his  delicate  little  body,  was  possessed  of  a  proud  cour- 

871 


272  KINGSMEAD 

age  that  could  accept  without  even  mental  murmur  the 
things  sent  to  him. 

So,  while  he  tramped  along,  his  coat-collar  turned 
up,  his  cold  hands  buried  deep  in  his  pockets,  his 
thoughts  were  not  for  himself,  but  for  his  friend. 

He,  Tommy,  at  least  knew  all  already;  for  him  no 
hideous  surprise  lay  in  ambush  ready  to  spring  on  him 
and  tear  at  his  breast  with  cruel  claws. 

Whereas  Teddy  —  Teddy,  then  at  Ramsbury,  sur- 
rounded by  sordid  tragedies  that  he  could  not  help  — 
was,  no  doubt,  hugging  at  that  very  moment  close  to 
his  soul  the  thought,  the  memory  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

This,  somehow,  made  Tommy's  agony  the  more  acute, 
and  the  prospect  of  the  inactive  night  before  him  the 
more  awful.  The  next  day  he  would  go  to  Ramsbury. 
Not,  thank  God,  by  motor ;  not  over  the  roads  by  which 
he  had  passed  with  Nanny  while  his  adoration  was  still 
green.  He  would  take  an  early  train,  and,  on  arriving, 
go  straight  to  his  friend  and  tell  him  the  truth. 

Only  one  pang  was,  in  that  long  evening  walk, 
spared  Tommy.  He  at  least  was  not  torn  by  any  mis- 
taken sense  of  loyalty  to  the  woman  he  loved.  He  loved 
her,  yes,  and  he  suffered  for  and  with  her,  but  quite 
clearly  he  saw  his  way  unblinded  by  prejudice  or  pity. 
The  gods,  in  trying  him  so  hard,  had  at  least  held  their 
hands  from  doing  to  him  the  horror  of  uncertainty 
regarding  right  and  wrong.  He  knew,  quite  certainly, 
that  no  matter  how  sorry  he  himself  was  for  the  poor 


KINGSMEAD  273 

woman,  she  was  not  one  whom  Teddy  could  marry. 
The  rain  ceased  when  he  was  about  half-way  home,  and 
as  night  crept  up  the  sky  from  the  dark  sodden  earth, 
a  few  stars  came  out. 

On  Tommy  hurried,  his  clothes  splashed  with  mud,  his 
face  still  wet  with  rain. 

"  Poor  Teddy,  oh,  poor  Teddy !  "  he  thought. 

Later,  he  vaguely  felt,  he  would  think  "  poor 
Tommy,"  but  the  piteousness  of  Teddy's  present  con- 
fident happiness  filled  him  with  a  kind  of  horror  that 
deadened  all  other  feeling. 

Half-way  up  the  dark  avenue  a  motor  passed  him 
from  behind,  and  he  stood  still.  It  was  Teddy,  he  knew, 
although  it  had  been  too  dark  for  him  to  see.  Teddy 
had  returned,  winged,  no  doubt  by  his  longing  to  see 
his  love 

Tommy's  steps  flagged  and  his  tired  mind  faltered. 
He  must,  then,  tell  his  sorry  tale  to-night. 

Realising  suddenly  his  own  great  fatigue,  he  longed 
for  one  night's  respite  —  for  a  long  bodily  rest  in  his 
bed.  He  was  so  unutterably  weary  now  that  he  felt 
he  could  not  talk. 

Very  slowly  he  crept  on  toward  the  house,  and  when 
he  reached  the  door  and  the  butler  confirmed  his  knowl- 
edge that  Teddy  had  been  in  the  motor  (if  knowledge 
can  be  confirmed)  he  went  at  once  to  his  room  and  sank 
down  in  his  rain-soaked  clothes  in  a  chair  by  the  fire. 

Five  minutes  later  and  he  was  sound  asleep,  his  wet 
18 


274  KINGSMEAD 

boots  smoking  in  the  heat,  his  chin  dropped  in  utter 
exhaustion.  And  it  was  thus  that  Teddy,  an  hour  later, 
having  by  chance  heard  of  his  arrival,  found  him. 

When  Tommy  woke,  gradually,  pleasantly,  to  find 
his  dear  friend  smiling  down  at  him  with  a  look  of  deep- 
est content,  he  for  a  moment  forgot  the  horror  of  things 
actual,  and  smiled  back  at  the  beautiful  young  man  his 
sweetest,  crookedest  smile  of  affection. 

"  Poor  old  Tommy,  you  look  tired  to  death,"  ob- 
served Teddy,  "  and  your  clothes  are  soaked,  silly  young 
ass." 

And  then  Tommy,  looking  down  at  himself,  remem- 
bered. He  was  stiff  and  aching  all  over,  but  he  rose  at 
a  bound  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  dying  fire. 

"  Don't  b-bother  about  me,"  he  said ;  "  I  —  I  was 
walking.  Where  are  your  father  and  mother?  " 

Teddy  gave  a  half  shamefaced,  chuckling  laugh. 

"  Still  —  there.  It  was  an  awful  business,  Tommy. 
And  father  takes  it  to  heart  even  more  than  he  need. 
He  and  mother  will  stay  for  the  funerals  —  the  day 
after  to-morrow.  I,"  he  added,  suddenly  grave, 
"  could  n't  wait.  Tommy,  have  you  —  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  have  seen  her." 

"Well?" 

All  the  delicious  impatience  of  the  lover  rang  in  his 
voice  as  he  said  the  word,  and  Tommy  shivered. 

"  Well?     You  don't  think  she  —  won't?  " 

Tommy  at  that  made  a  mighty  effort. 


KINGSMEAD  £75 

"  Look  here,  Teddy,"  he  said  slowly,  "  there  is  some- 
thing I  must  tell  you  —  something  very  bad.  I — it 
h-hurts  me  —  but  I  must." 

Teddy  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  eyed  him 
sternly.  "  It 's  not,"  he  asked  with  a  quaver  in  his 
voice,  "  that  —  that  you  have  been  —  making  love  to 
her?" 

Even  in  his  pain  Tommy  was  conscious  of  the  old 
pang  of  pitying  disgust  that  slips  of  the  kind  in  Teddy 
occasioned  him. 

"  Don't  you  know  me  better  than  that?  "  he  asked 
impatiently. 

Teddy  flushed.    "  I  beg  your  pardon.    Go  on." 

"  It 's  —  it 's  this.  She  —  you  can't  marry  her, 
Teddy.  Her  name  is  n't  even  Gilpin.  She  —  has  fooled 
us  all." 

Teddy  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  burst 
out  laughing.  "  You  're  dreaming,  old  chap !  Of 
course  her  name  's  Gilpin.  What  should  it  be?  " 

"  It 's  Donovan,"  returned  Tommy  wearily,  feeling 
as  if  he  had  already  told  the  story  so  often  that  his 
tongue  refused  its  duty.  "  Aileen  Donovan.  She  never 
was  in  India.  She  never  saw  Gilpin.  Her  father  was 
an  Irish  vet,  and  —  she  has  never  been  married." 

It  was  said,  and  in  his  relief  he  sat  down. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  she  is  —  just  a  fraud,  an 
.adventuress  ?  Why,  you  're  mad,  man !  " 

Teddy  laughed  at  the  absurdity  of  the  tale. 


276  KINGSMEAD 

Tommy  looked  at  him.  "  *  Adventuress  '  does  n't 
seem  to  be  exactly  the  word,"  he  protested  mildly, 
"  but  —  it 's  true,  what  I  said.  Her  name  is  Aileen 
Donovan." 

The  pretty  red  faded  from  Teddy's  brown  cheek,  but 
he  refused  to  be  convinced. 

"  It 's  laughable.  Some  j  ealous  woman  has  been  lying 
about  her.  How  can  you  be  such  an  ass  as  to  believe 
such  a  story  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  an  ass.    She  told  me  herself." 

Then  at  last  young  Lansing  became  alarmed,  and  in 
a  sharp,  high  voice  new  to  his  friend  claimed  circum- 
stantial detail.  And  Tommy  told  it  much  as  it  had 
been  told  to  him,  without  embellishment,  without  any 
attempt  at  palliation. 

"  You  see,"  he  added  when  he  had  finished,  "  I  tried 
to  make  her  understand  that  she  must  tell  you.  And 
I  failed.  Therefore  I  had  to  tell  you  m-myself." 

"  She  has  never  been  married?  "  repeated  Teddy  with 
a  puzzled  frown. 

"  No." 

"  Then  —  she  is  n't  a  widow  at  all." 

"  No." 

"Well?" 

Tommy  looked  at  him.  "  Dear  old  Teddy !  Poor 
dear  old  chap !  " 

Lansing  stared  stupidly  at  the  fire  for  several  sec- 
onds. Then  he  rose. 


KINGSMEAD  277 

"  Well  —  I  'm  going  to  marry  her  just  the  same," 
he  declared. 

And  Tommy  saw  that  his  eyes  were  very  bloodshot. 

"  You  are  tired,  Teddy ;  come  along  to  bed,  and  we  11 
talk  it  over  to-morrow,"  he  answered  gently. 

Teddy  looked  at  him.  "  You  may  go  to  the  devil,"  he 
answered  in  a  quiet  voice.  "  I  don't  care  what  becomes 
of  you.  I  'm  going  over  to  —  to  her  at  once  and  make 
her  marry  me." 

And  poor  Tommy,  wise  for  all  his  youth,  let  him  go 
without  another  word,  for  it  was  not  the  time  for  words. 


CHAPTER  XX 

OBEDIENT  to  the  clamorous  call  of  the  great  gong, 
Tommy  hurried  into  evening  clothes  and  went  down  to 
dinner.  He  would  in  his  present  mood  rather  have 
faced  a  dragon  than  Inez  Lansing,  but  he  was  in  a  meas- 
ure her  guest  and  his  undefined  code  did  not  permit  of 
his  causing  inconvenience  by  staying  upstairs.  To  his 
relief,  Inez,  who  wore  an  almost  ingeniously  unbecoming 
blue  frock,  was  distrait  and  silent  herself. 

When  dinner  was  announced  she  explained  shortly 
that  Teddy  had  gone  out,  and  then,  in  silence,  they  went 
into  the  dining-room.  The  small  table  looked  small 
indeed  in  the  great  room,  and  poor  Tommy  glanced 
appalled  at  the  long  menu  that  stood  in  a  silver  frame 
before  him. 

Must  he  eat,  or  pretend  to  eat,  or  even  watch  Inez 
pretend  to  eat,  all  these  things? 

"  I  'm  not  a  bit  hungry,  are  you  ?  "  she  asked  sud- 
denly, as  if  she  had  read  his  thoughts. 

"  No,  not  at  all.  What  have  you  been  doing  all 
day?" 

She  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"I?  Nothing  at  all.  Oh,  Hubert  Green  called,  and 
we  went  for  a  walk." 

278 


KINGSMEAD  279 

"  Nice  chap,  Green." 

She  laughed  again.  "  Do  you  like  him  ?  He  has  very 
bad  manners,  I  always  think." 

Tommy  took  some  beef  and  looked  at  it  with  actual 
physical  loathing. 

"  Bad  manners  ?  No,  I  never  thought  so.  In  what 
way  do  you  mean?  " 

It  was  a  hideous  effort  to  talk,  but  he  felt  that  he 
must  do  his  best  to  entertain  his  hostess,  and  silence  in 
itself  was  at  present  of  no  comfort  to  him. 

"  I  mean  to  say  —  he  is  very  outspoken." 

"  Oh  yes,  he  is  that,"  returned  Tommy,  forgetting 
Green  entirely  and  thinking  of  Teddy ;  "  but  —  one 
must  n't  be  too  hard  on  him.  It  is  not  very  easy  for 
him." 

She  stared.     Then  she  flushed. 

"  What  do  you  mean?    You  can't  have  seen " 

Tommy  drank  some  water. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  being  very  stupid,  Miss  Lansing. 
But  as  to  Green,  I  can  only  say  I  've  never  seen  him 
guilty  of  bad  manners." 

"  He  was  very  rude  about  Captain  Axendale- 
Murray." 

"  Oh,  rude  about  Axendale-Murray,  was  he?  Per- 
haps he  —  perhaps  he  did  n't  like  him " 

As  he  floundered  on,  sitting  very  erect  in  his  chair, 
old  Lady  Kingsmead  opposite  him  in  her  black-and- 
gold  frame  seemed  to  be  fixing  her  cold,  unyielding  eye 
on  him.  It  was  an  awful  meal. 


280  KINGSMEAD 

"  As  if  it  was  any  business  of  his  how  many  times 
I  danced  with  Captain  Axendale-Murray." 

"  Of  course  it  was  n't,"  assented  Tommy  dreamily, 
his  thoughts  again  with  Teddy ;  "  why  on  earth  should 
he  care?  " 

Inez  stared  and  then  was  silent,  her  face  looking  un- 
pleasantly sulky,  although  Tommy  did  not  notice  it. 
He  was  in  a  curious  mental  condition. 

As  yet  no  feeling  of  jealousy  had  come  to  confuse  him, 
and  his  one  thought,  presenting  itself  in  a  thousand 
different  aspects,  was  how  he  was  to  convince  Teddy 
that  he  could  not  marry  Mrs.  Gilpin. 

He,  Tommy,  saw  it  so  clearly  that  it  baffled  him 
utterly  to  realise  Teddy's  blindness  on  the  point.  At 
that  very  moment,  he  knew,  Teddy  and  Nanny  were 
together.  Nanny !  Nanny  Gilpin !  An  absurdly  bour- 
geois name,  unromantic  and  amazingly  unlike  one 
assumed. 

But  it  suited  her  in  her  homely  prettiness.  And  the 
very  heart  and  soul  of  the  tragedy  was  that  she  could 
see  no  tragedy  at  all. 

She  could  not  see  why  she  must  not  marry  Teddy, 
and  Teddy  would  not  see  why  he  must  not  marry  her. 
Only  Tommy  knew,  and  he,  it  appeared,  was  such  an 
idiot  that  he  could  not  communicate  his  knowledge  to 
them.  That,  of  course,  was  awkward,  but  he  was  very 
tired,  and  might  be  better  able  to  explain  to-morrow. 
No,  he  did  n't  want  a  sweet,  and  he  could  in  his  exces- 


KINGSMEAD  281 

sive  nervousness  have  screamed  when  the  footman  offered 
him  one.  Why  couldn't  they  let  him  alone? 

"  You  don't  look  well,  Lord  Kingsmead,"  exclaimed 
Inez  as  he  very  gently  refused  the  sweet  and  leaned  back 
in  his  chair ;  "  shall  we  go,  if  you  are  not  hungry  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  let 's  go." 

Tommy  felt  that  any  other  room  in  the  world  would 
be  better  than  that  one,  but  the  drawing-room  was  as 
bad,  and  Inez  walking  restlessly  about  nearly  drove 
him  mad.  He  sat  by  the  fire  trying  hard  to  make  con- 
versation for  nearly  an  hour,  and  then,  suddenly,  relief 
came. 

"  I  am  dead  tired,"  she  said ;  "  do  you  mind  if  I  go 
upstairs  ?  " 

And  he  was  alone.  Alone,  poor  Tommy,  to  sit  on 
the  floor  by  the  fire  and  try  to  piece  together  in  his 
mind  a  speech  sufficiently  logical  to  convince  Teddy 
that  he  must  give  up  Nanny.  He  would  explain  to 
Teddy.  In  the  morning,  when  he  was  less  tired,  he  would 
explain.  He  would  say,  "  Teddy,  dear  old  fellow,  you 
know  how  awfully  fond  I  am  of  you." 

No,  he  would  be  simply  just;  he  would  say,  "I  am 
sorry,  my  heart  aches  for  you  both,  but  she  is  not, 
poor  thing,  the  kind  of  woman  one  marries." 

And  then  if  Teddy  was  angry,  and  told  him  to  mind 
his  own  business? 

Poor  little  Tommy,  he  felt  so  keenly  that  it  was  his 
own  business!  Teddy's  affairs  had  always  been  his; 


282  KINGSMEAD 

he  loved  Teddy  so  much  that  nothing  could  be  more 
personal  to  him  than  things  that  were  Teddy's.  And 
because  he  could  see  where  Teddy  could  only  feel,  he 
was  unto  himself  so  fully  justified  that  not  even  the 
fear  of  his  friend's  anger  could  make  him  hesitate. 

The  marriage  would  be  hurtful  to  Teddy,  therefore  it 
must  not  take  place. 

As  the  slow  hours  passed,  this  fact  remained  upper- 
most in  his  mind,  unobscured,  such  was  his  unconscious 
unselfishness,  by  any  lesser  thought.  And  then,  toward 
midnight,  he  fell  asleep  and  was  awakened  as  he  had  been 
that  afternoon,  to  find  Teddy  standing  before  him. 

"Oh!" 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  bed?  "  returned  Teddy  in  a 
queer  voice. 

"I  —  I  have  been  thinking." 

Young  Lansing  sat  down  and  put  a  log  on  the  dying 
fire. 

"  She  has  told  me,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  Yes."  Tommy  had  known  that  she  would  not  deny ; 
that  she  would  be  with  poor  Teddy  as  frank  as  she  had 
been  with  him. 

"  It 's  —  a  hard-luck  story,  Tommy." 

"  Yes." 

Teddy  was  leaning  forward  staring  into  the  fire, 
which  now  crackled  merrily  as  if  it  were  laughing  at  his 
griefs.  But  this  thought  was  Tommy's. 

"  She  —  O  my  God,  Tommy,  she  —  cried !  " 


KINGSMEAD  288 

Tommy  did  not  speak;  he  could  not  Somehow  he 
had  not  imagined  that  Nanny  would  cry,  and  it  was 
almost  too  much  for  him  to  bear. 

"  I  —  I  did  n't  think  she  'd  cry,"  he  faltered. 

"  Well,  she  did." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  then  Lansing  went  on, 
still  looking  into  the  fire :  "  I  'm  going  to  marry  her, 
Kingsmead." 

Tommy  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  Her  crying,  poor  soul, 
does  n't  change  things,  Teddy." 

"  It  is  n't  that.  But  I  love  her,  and  —  I  want  her  to 
be  happy.  She  is  very  good  too.  I  mean  to  say,"  he 
continued,  blushing  over  the  necessity  of  explaining  the 
word,  "  very  true.  She  says  she  will  marry  me,  but  — 
she  must  have  cared  an  awful  lot  for  that  beast,  Tommy 
—  she  told  me  quite  frankly  that  she  —  that  she  only 
likes  me." 

Tommy  stared,  his  haggard  little  face  ash-white. 

"Only  likes  you?" 

"  Yes.  I  suppose  there  are  some  women  like  that, 
who  can  love  only  once.  And  —  I  can't  tell  you  how 
I  respect  her  for  telling  me." 

It  seemed  to  Tommy  at  that  moment  as  though  some- 
thing were  really  physically  breaking  in  his  breast. 

"I  —  don't  understand,  Teddy,"  he  said  faintly. 

Teddy  did  not  notice  his  emotion. 

"  Well,  I  've  told  you.  You  're  all  wrong  —  or  you 
•were  all  wrong  about  our  marrying,  and  you  don't 


284  KINGSMEAD 

understand  her  at  all,  but  —  I  know  you  meant  to  do 
the  fair  thing  by  me,  and  it  must  have  been  a  damnable 
thing  to  have  to  do  —  so  I  'm  telling  you  now.  After 
to-night,"  he  added  with  a  new  dignity,  "  we  '11  never 
mention  it  again.  I  will  make  her  love  me  —  I  say, 
what 's  wrong?  " 

He  broke  oif ,  for  Tommy  had  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  closed  his  eyes  helplessly. 

"Nothing.  I'm  — tired.  I'll  talk  to  you  to- 
morrow, Teddy.  I  'm  tired " 

Twenty  minutes  later  Tommy  lay  in  his  bed  fast 
asleep.  He  was  worn  out,  mercifully,  and  too  tired  to 
grapple  with  the  new  problem  suggested  to  him  by 
Teddy's  confidence. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  next  morning,  brightened  by  a  pleasant,  pale  sun, 
was  so  much  warmer  than  its  immediate  predecessors 
that  it  seemed  to  Tommy,  as  he  made  his  way  to  Creene, 
almost  impossible  that  it  could  have  been  only  yesterday 
that  he  had  rushed  homeward  over  the  frozen  road. 

It  was  a  mild,  warm,  muddy  morning  with  a  warm 
gleam  in  the  sky  and  boughs  dripping  that  the  day 
before  had  been  frozen  hard  and  black.  Tommy 
walked  rapidly,  for  he  had  great  need  of  seeing  Mrs. 
Gilpin. 

When  he  reached  Creene  and  was  about  to  ring  the 
bell,  he  saw  that  a  little  green  door  in  the  garden  wall 
was  open,  and  yielding  to  a  feeling  that  was  more  in- 
stinct than  curiosity,  he  went  on  and  pushing  open  the 
door  looked  down  into  the  sun-filled  enclosure. 

It  was  a  small  garden,  evidently  devoted  to  flowers, 
for  the  ground  was  neatly  divided  into  manure-covered 
beds,  while  down  two  sides  a  row  of  straw-swathed  stand- 
ard roses  stood  like  wounded  warriors  keeping  stiff 
guard  over  the  rain-drenched  box  borders. 

At  first,  as  he  stood  in  the  gateway,  Tommy  thought 
the  place  was  deserted,  but  hearing  a  slight  sound  to 
his  right  he  turned  and  saw,  bending  over  a  narrow  bed 

285 


286  KINGSMEAD 

of  tender  green  leaves,  Mrs.  Gilpin,  as  yet  unconscious 
of  his  presence. 

Her  grey  skirt  well  held  up  about  her  ankles,  her 
narrow  feet  in  ugly  rubber  shoes,  she  was  examining 
with  great  interest  something  that  Tommy  could,  at 
first,  not  see. 

Then  she  moved  a  little,  and  he  beheld  at  her  feet, 
pale  and  spectre-like  in  the  winter  sun,  a  snowdrop.  He 
caught  his  breath.  She  herself  in  her  simple  gown  with 
something  white  at  the  throat,  something  in  the  droop 
of  her  delicate  head,  the  poise  of  her  little  body,  was  h'ke 
the  flower  at  her  feet;  and  the  horrible  incongruity  of 
his  finding  her,  come  on  the  errand  on  which  he  had  come, 
standing  daintily  poised  in  the  wet  garden  watching  the 
poor  little  overbold  thing  as  it  opened  its  foolish  heart 
to  the  false  sun,  struck  him  like  a  physical  pang. 

Suddenly  she  turned  and  saw  him. 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  come  and  look  at  this  snowdrop ! 
This  is  the  kitchen  wall,  so  they  are  always  early  here, 
but  this  is  very  early." 

She  was,  he  saw,  very  pale,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
his  knowledge  of  her  her  eyes  were  dark-rimmed  and 
heavy,  which  somehow  made  her  still  more  like  the  little 
rain-drenched  flower. 

"  It  —  is  very  pretty,"  he  said,  without  moving. 
"May  I  talk  to  you?" 

"  Oh  yes  —  if  you  must."  She  drew  a  deep  sigh. 
"  Shall  we  go  in  ?  If  you  don't  mind  I  'd  rather  stay  in 
the  air." 


KINGSMEAD  287 

"  Let  us  stay  here,  by  all  means,  Mrs.  Gilpin  —  I 
can't  say  the  other  name  —  Teddy  told  you." 

"  Yes.  He  was  here  last  night  —  for  hours.  He  was 
angry  with  you  until  I  told  him  that  it  was  —  absurd 
of  him.  I  was  sorry  for  him.  He  is  very  young." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Tommy,  innocent  at  the  moment  of  his 
own  youth,  "  very.  I  am  going  away  to-day.  But  first 
I  had  to  see  you.  I  had  a  note  from  him  this  morning. 
He  says  in  it  he  is  going  to  marry  you  as  soon  as  he  can 
persuade  you  to  marry  him." 

"  Yes,  I  know."  Her  voice  had  a  little  break  in  it, 
and  Tommy  glanced  at  her  sharply. 

"  And  —  you  mean  to  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  —  cares  for  me,"  she  faltered ;  "  and  he  is  the 
only  person  in  the  whole  world  who  does.  I  —  I  am 
very  lonely."  It  was  ineffably  sad  to  him,  the  unex- 
pected little  plaint,  and  his  heart  sank,  as  they  paced  the 
wet  gravel  from  end  to  end  of  the  garden,  she  still  hold- 
ing her  skirts  carefully  out  of  the  wet,  Tommy  holding 
his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  Then  —  you  persist  in  marrying  him  ?  " 

She  stood  still,  looking  at  him  steadily  with  her  weary 
eyes,  that  for  all  their  weariness  had  lost  none  of  their 
marvellous  blue  clearness. 

"  You  really  think  it  would  injure  him?  "  she  asked. 

Tommy  bowed  his  head.  "  Yes.  And  —  you  have  no 
right  to  do  it." 

"  I  want  to  marry  him,  Lord  Kingsmead." 


288  KINGSMEAD 

She  stood  with  her  hands  clasped,  looking  at  the 
ground. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  marry  him?  You  don't  love 
him." 

She  started.  "  Oh,  he  should  not  have  told  you  that ! 
How  could  he?  " 

"  He  did.  We  are  friends.  And  —  /  know  that  there 
is  someone  whom  you  do  love." 

"  Yes." 

"Then?" 

She  looked  up,  more  really  beautiful  in  her  anguish 
than  he  had  ever  seen  her. 

"  That  other  person  does  not  love  me,"  she  returned 
simply.  "  If  he  did  —  I  would  not  marry  Teddy." 

Tommy  set  his  teeth.  He  knew.  He  had  known  ever 
since  Teddy  told  him  the  night  before  that  Nanny  did 
not  love  him. 

"  That  person,"  went  on  Nanny,  "  despises  me." 

"  That  person,"  interrupted  Tommy  grimly,  "  has 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  Never  had,  and  never 
will.  We  are  thinking  of  —  Teddy.  You  must  not 
marry  him." 

Her  mouth  trembled  and  she  turned  away,  a  sad  little 
grey  figure  in  the  gay  sunlight. 

"  I  know,"  she  answered  humbly.  "  And  so  I  must 
marry  Teddy.  I  —  I  wish  —  why  do  you  think  I  should 
hurt  him?  " 

Tommy  was  silent. 


KINGSMEAD  289 

"  I  have  been  quite  honest  with  him,"  she  added  plead- 
ingly;  "  d-do  you  really  think  it  would  hurt  him?  " 

And  Tommy  knew  that  she  did  not  mean  to  be  cruel. 

"  I  do.  Because  —  because  as  things  now  are,  he 
would  change  toward  you.  I  don't  quite  know  how  to 

put  it,  but  —  people  who  marry "  he  broke  off,  and 

she  finished  his  sentence  for  him. 

"  People  who  marry  must,  you  mean,  respect  as  well 
as  love?  And  you  think  that  I  am  beyond  respect." 

It  was  very  painful.  Tommy  eyed  the  swaying  snow- 
drop, which  they  were  again  approaching,  and  felt  as 
if  he  were  forced  by  some  cruel  law  to  grind  it  into  the 
earth  with  his  heel. 

"  You  hurt  me,"  he  faltered. 

"  Yes?  Well,  you  hurt  me.  If  you  were  older,"  she 
went  on,  still  quite  unresentfully,  "  you  would  not  be  so 
hard.  You  would  understand  that  it  is  a  woman's  nature 
that  counts,  her  soul,  rather  than  what  circumstances 
have  made  her  do." 

"  Yes.  But  —  the  —  the  right  nature  could  not  have 
been  forced  into  —  all  that.  The  first  part  I  admit. 
You  were  young,  and  you  loved  him  —  that  is  an  excuse. 
But  there  is  no  excuse  for  your  living  on  his  money  all 
this  time." 

"  I  have  told  you  why  I  did.    I  wanted  to  be  good." 

Tommy  groaned,  and  she  repeated  her  words :  "  Yes, 
it  is  true,  I  wanted  to  be  good.     To  get  away  from  — 
those  others,  who,  even  at  once,  while  I  was  ill,  kept  call- 
ID 


290  KINGSMEAD 

ing  and  writing.  His  money  made  —  all  this  —  this 
quiet  life  and  this  —  respectability,  possible." 

"  You  might  have  worked." 

The  four  syllables  rang  out  sharply  like  a  gunshot. 
That  was  the  weak  point  in  the  strange  armour  of  gentle- 
ness, and  he  had  aimed  at  it. 

They  had  again  reached  the  snowdrop,  and  she 
stopped,  almost  as  if  the  shot  had  indeed  hit  her. 

"Work?    But  how?" 

She  looked  at  him,  as  she  had  done  yesterday,  with 
honest  inquiry  in  her  face.  It  was  very  defeating. 

"  There  was  nothing  I  could  do  well,  and  things  have 
to  be  done  well  nowadays.  I  was  very  delicate  for  a  long 
time  after  my  illness  —  I  needed  southern  air,  and  wine 
and  —  and  things " 

But  Tommy,  strong  in  his  young  inexorableness,  re- 
fused to  let  his  quivering  nerves  influence  him. 

"If  it  had  been  I,"  he  declared,  "I  should  not 
have  considered  what  I  could  do  —  or  what  I  needed. 
It  would  have  been  better  to  die  than  to  take  his 
money." 

The  horror  of  her  inability  to  understand,  of  the 
overmastering  love  of  comfort  underlying  her  mislead- 
ing but  perfectly  sincere  simplicity,  was  strong  on  him, 
but  he  refused  to  let  it  soften  his  words. 

Grimly  he  looked  down  at  the  snowdrop,  his  face  white 
and  haggard  in  the  strengthening  sunlight. 

At  length  she  spoke. 


KINGSMEAD  291 

"  Do  you  wish,"  she  asked  him  quietly,  "  that  I  had 
died?" 

"  God  knows  I  do !  "  he  burst  out  in  anguish.  Then 
he  turned  and  walked  away,  frightened. 

For  several  minutes  she  did  not  move,  and  then  she 
came  slowly  to  where  he  stood. 

"  I  understand  now,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
arm.  "  At  last  I  understand." 

And  in  the  midst  of  the  whirlwind  of  conflicting  feel- 
ings that  caught  him  up  at  her  touch,  he  thought,  with 
a  ghost  of  his  familiar  smile,  that  if  she  did  it  was  more 
than  he  did. 

For  the  one  thing  that  was  clear  to  him  was  his  con- 
viction that  no  matter  at  what  price,  and  he  was  already 
paying  himself,  his  friend  was  to  be  prevented  from 
marrying  the  woman  whose  comprehension  was  so 
strangely  limited. 

That  was  it,  she  really  did  not  know.  And,  Tommy 
felt,  people  have  no  right  to  not  know  certain  things. 
Her  lack  of  moral  comprehension  was  as  awful  as  would 
have  been  the  lack  of  a  child  born  not  only  without 
sight  but  without  eyes. 

He  turned  to  her. 

"  No,  you  do  not  understand,"  he  said  gently ;  "  that 
is  what  is  so  —  so  hopeless." 

"  But  I  do." 

She  had  drawn  away  from  him,  and  in  the  sun  her 
little  mirror  glittered  so  that  he  covered  his  eyes  for  a 
moment  with  his  hand. 


292  KINGSMEAD 

"  Veronica,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  You  remember  the 
story  you  told  us  —  the  blind  woman  in  Venice?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well  —  d-don't  you  see,"  he  stammered  in  his  eager- 
ness, "  you  said  —  you  yourself  said  that  he  could  n't 
marry  her  because  she  was  blind  and  could  not  look  after 
his  house.  Now,  don't  you  see?  Ah,  Nanny  Gilpin, 
can't  you  see  that  that's  why?  Teddy  mustn't  marry 
you.  Look!  "  Holding  up  the  little  glass  he  mirrored 
her  face  in  it.  "  Look  at  yourself.  Your  eyes  are  not 
blind.  Look  —  at  your  poor  blind  self.  That  is  why. 
You  are  blind,  my  dear,  my  dear  —  and  you  could  n't 
look  after  his  house !  " 

There  was  a  long  pause,  during  which  she  looked 
steadily  at  her  face  in  the  glass  he  held  in  his  shaking 
hand. 

Then  she  closed  her  eyes  and  took  the  glass  from  him. 
"  Yes,  now  —  at  last  —  I  understand,"  she  said  quietly. 
"  I  told  you  before  that  I  understood,  but  I  did  n't. 
I  thought  you  meant  —  worldlier  things.  Now  I  do 
understand." 

Miserably  they  stood  in  the  sun,  both  of  them  hope- 
lessly looking  down  at  the  hopeful  earth. 

"  And  —  I  give  you  my  word  that  I  will  not  marry 
Teddy." 

Taking  her  hand  he  bent  his  smooth  sandy  head 
over  it. 

"  Thank  you." 


KINGSMEAD  293 

For  a  moment  she  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  then, 
going  swiftly  from  him,  she  stooped  and  picked  the 
snowdrop. 

"  Keep  this,"  she  said. 

Before  he  could  answer  he  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  relief  derived  from  the  promise  and  his  unquestion- 
ing faith  in  it  carried  Tommy  back  to  Kingsmead  as  if 
wings  had  grown  at  his  heels.  Teddy  was  safe ;  no  more 
talking  would  be  necessary,  and  Tommy  felt  as  if  the 
obligation  to  talk  was  one  of  the  most  painful  in  the 
world.  He  could  go  away,  quite  quietly,  and  —  events 
would  shape  themselves. 

Teddy,  most  probably,  would  write  to  him  and  revile 
him  when  he  found  that  after  all  Nanny  had  been  in- 
fluenced by  Tommy.  But  Tommy  would  not  answer  the 
letters,  and  with  time  Teddy  would  —  not  forgive  him, 
for  he  needed  no  forgiveness,  but  —  understand. 

And  Nanny  —  since  the  giving  of  her  promise  the 
necessity  for  calling  her  by  her  unreal  real  name  had  died, 
leaving  her  a  fixture  in  his  mind  as  Nanny  —  would,  he 
felt  sure,  although  he  had  left  her  with  not  a  word  when 
she  had  given  him  the  snowdrop,  do  nothing  to  fan 
Teddy's  resentment.  It  was  even,  he  realised,  quite 
probable  that  she  would  refuse  to  marry  him,  without 
explanations  of  any  kind,  or  any  further  mention  of 
Tommy's  name. 

There  was  in  her  no  malice,  no  unkindness,  not  even 
any  of  the  spasmodic  cruelty  that  makes  so  many  very 
kind  women  hard  to  deal  with. 

294 


KINGSMEAD  295 

He,  by  great  good  luck,  had,  it  seemed,  succeeded  in 
convincing  her  that  she  must  not  marry  Teddy;  that 
by  marrying  him  she  would  injure  him.  Therefore  she 
would  not  do  it. 

Deeply  relieved,  he  went  upstairs  at  the  end  of  his 
long  walk,  and  to  his  room. 

Teddy's  man  was,  as  he  entered,  just  putting  the  last 
touches  to  his  packing. 

"  Mr.  Teddy  is  out,  my  lord,"  Park  said,  looking  up 
from  his  work  with  a  rather  sharp  glance.  "  He  left  a 
note  for  your  lordship." 

The  note  said  merely  that  Teddy  was  off  to  Greene 
after  a  necessary  visit  to  one  of  his  father's  tenants,  and 
that  he  hoped  Tommy  would  never  again  mention  the 
matter  they  had  discussed  the  night  before. 

Tommy  winced  as  he  read,  for  it  was  very  obvious 
that  poor  Teddy  had  started  off  with  a  high  heart. 

However,  he,  Tommy,  could,  he  saw,  just  catch  the 
noon  express,  so  he  hastened  downstairs  to  say  good-bye 
to  Inez. 

"  I  will  write  to  Mrs.  Lansing,"  he  said  to  the  girl, 
whom  he  found  walking  aimlessly  about  the  drawing- 
room  ;  "  you  have  all  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"  You  have  been  kind  to  us,  Lord  Kingsmead.  I 
ought  to  tell  you  that  Madame  de  Lensky  has  asked  me 
to  visit  her,  and  that  the  Duchess  is  coming  back  here  in 
the  spring.  So  you  see  our  days  of  social  obscurity  are, 
thanks  to  you,  practically  over." 


296  KINGSMEAD 

"  I  am  glad,"  he  returned  simply.  Then  he  added, 
looking  at  her  closely:  "  I  hope  nothing  has  happened?  " 

She  was,  he  saw,  depressed  and  nervous,  and  in  her 
present  mood  he  came  nearer  to  liking  her  than  he  had 
ever  done. 

"  Happened?  No,  of  course  not.  I  have  a  headache, 
that 's  all." 

He  made  no  reply  to  this  long  since  canonised  lie,  and 
a  few  minutes  later  was  tearing  down  the  avenue  in  a 
motor. 

How  many  things  had  happened  since  he  had  arrived 
at  Kingsmead  only  five  weeks  before !  How  many  times 
he  had,  since  his  first  sacrifice  on  the  day  of  the  drive 
to  Pinchbroke,  been  in  motors !  He  had  now  almost  got 
over  —  no,  almost  forgotten  his  dislike  of  the  things. 
They  had  dwindled  to  no  importance  in  his  mind. 

But  Teddy's  love-affair !  Alas,  he  had  fostered  that ! 
He  had  loved  and  tended  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  flower, 
and  now  it  had  changed  to  a  poisonous  weed. 

He,  Tommy,  had  meant  well,  but  he  had  bungled. 
Even  his  great  Christmas  party  had  ended  in  tragedy, 
though  that  was  of  course  not  his  fault. 

"  I  am  a  meddler,"  the  young  man  told  himself  as  the 
motor  drew  up  to  the  station,  "  I  ought  to  mind  my 
own  business.  When  I  am  older  I  '11  look  back  on  this 
all  as  —  the  result  of  the  indiscreet  exuberance  of  three- 
and-twenty." 

He  smiled  at  the  thought,  for,  however  mistaken  he 


KINGSMEAD  297 

had  been,  he  had  done  his  best,  and  Teddy  at  least  was 
saved. 

He  bought  his  ticket,  and,  being  early,  walked  up  and 
down  until  the  train  came  in. 

Just  as  it  left,  he  comfortably  installed  in  an  other- 
wise empty  first-class  carriage,  the  door  was  torn  open 
with  the  irritating  bustle  of  guards,  and  young  Green 
jumped  in. 

"  I  thought  I  was  late,  by  Jove ! "  the  newcomer  ex- 
claimed. "How  do  you  do?" 

Tommy  replied  that  he  was  all  right  and  unfolded 
a  newspaper.  He  did  not  want  to  talk,  he  wanted  to 
rest. 

He  was  going  back,  as  fast  as  boats  and  trains  could 
carry  him,  to  the  place  of  rest,  the  Castelletto,  and  he 
wished  not  to  think  more  than  was  necessary  of  the 
people  he  had  left  behind.  But  young  Green  was  rest- 
less and  insisted  on  talking,  and  suddenly,  before  Tommy 
saw  what  he  was  about  to  do,  had  blurted  out,  "  What 
brutes  women  are !  " 

"Women?    Why?" 

"  Because,"  young  Green  bit  his  cigarette  in  two  and 
threw  it  away,  "  they  are  all  snobs  and  —  and  cheats. 
Upon  my  word,  I  —  I  hate  'em !  " 

Poor  Tommy,  confronted  thus  with  another  exposi- 
tion of  the  eternal  problem,  moved  restlessly.  He  too 
would  have  liked  to  forget  the  ungentle  sex  for  a  time 
if  he  could. 


298  KINGSMEAD 

"  What 's  wrong,  Green  ?  "  he  asked  kindly.  "  Any 
one  been  ill-treating  you?  " 

"  Oh  no  —  it 's  —  a  chap  I  know,  rather  a  pal  of  mine. 
It  makes  me  sick,  Kingsmead.  The  girl  led  him  on  - 
made  him  think  —  you  know  —  all  last  season,  and  then 
gets  a  bee  in  her  bonnet  and  —  carries  on  so  under  his 
very  nose  that  —  that  he  sees  she  never  cared  a  curse 
for  him  any  of  the  time.  I  've —  I  've  had  a  beastly  time 
with  him." 

"  What  did  he  do  ?  "  asked  Tommy  wearily. 

"  Nothing.  Went  away  —  they  're  Cumberland  peo- 
ple. She  —  the  girl  is  engaged  to  a  chap  she  thinks 
'  smart?  I  suppose  —  they  are  all  alike,  girls  —  it 's  too 
disgusting."  The  young  man  subsided  into  silence, 
and  Tommy  suddenly  realised  that  he  was  very 
hungry. 

"  I  'm  sorry,  Green,"  Tommy  repeated,  wishing  he 
had  eaten  more  breakfast.  "  It  does  seem  hard  luck, 
but  perhaps  he  '11  get  over  it." 

Green  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  Of  course  I  'm  boring 
you,"  he  said  ruefully.  "  I  know  I  am.  You  've  prob- 
ably never  cared  about  a  girl,  and  until  you  do  you  can't 
understand.  It 's  —  I  tell  you,  Kingsmead,  it 's  —  just 
plain  hell." 

He  was,  this  casually-met  young  man,  as  powerful  a 
magician  as  ever  a  wise  man  of  old,  for  in  a  trice,  called 
up  by  his  simple  words,  the  wall  built  by  his  relief  over 
Teddy's  escape  between  his  mind  and  his  heart  crumbled 


KINGSMEAD  299 

away,  and  Tommy  was  face  to  face  with  his  own  per- 
sonal misery. 

Did  he  not  know?  He,  with  his  poor  little  snowdrop 
crushed  in  a  bit  of  paper  against  his  heart? 

"  There  must  be  a  restaurant  car  in  this  train,  is  n't 
there  ?  "  he  asked  with  an  effort.  "  I  had  a  very  early 
breakfast  and  am  hungry." 

Young  Green  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Yes,  oh  yes, 
there 's  a  restaurant  car.  I  '11  not  go  in,  I  'm  not 
hungry,"  he  added,  a  note  of  rather  ridiculous  reproach 
in  his  voice. 

So  Tommy  went  and  ate  cold  beef  and  potatoes  and 
drank  a  bottle  of  ale,  and  watched  with  his  outward  eye 
the  flying  sunny  landscape,  but  his  inward  eye  saw  with 
terrible  distinctness  the  small  white  face  under  its  wings 
of  smooth  dark  hair  that  he  knew  had  come  to  his 
memory  to  stay. 

Poor  snowdrop! 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

"  OH,  please  tell  me,  Tommy.  Dear  Tommy,  please  tell 
me !  If  you  don't  I  really  think  I  '11  burst."  Pammy 
clasped  her  hands  entreatingly  and  eyed  him  with  an 
almost  tearful  curiosity.  "  I  '11  never  tell,  not  even 
mother!" 

"  But  there 's  nothing  I  can  tell,  Pammy !  " 

Tommy  laughed  a  little  as  he  sat  in  the  charming 
old-fashioned  drawing-room,  up  and  down  the  walls 
of  which  gorgeously  imaged  peacocks  strutted. 

His  train  leaving  Victoria  at  eight-thirty  he  had  come 
here  to  Westminster  to  get  away  from  the  new  and  as 
yet  almost  unbearable  misery  that  had  assailed  him  in 
the  train,  and,  as  on  the  other  occasion,  the  occasion 
when  he  had  come  with  his  mind  full  of  absent  but  kindly 
plots  for  the  Lansings,  he  found  Pam  busy,  and  Pammy 
an  important  substitute  for  her. 

"  Nothing  you  can  tell,"  repeated  the  young  girl 
sharply,  pouncing  on  the  word ;  "  that  means  that  you 
could  but  won't.  Ah,  Tommy,  please!  " 

But  Tommy  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  a  tomb ;  a  lock- 
box;  a  safety-vault.  I  never  tell  secrets,"  he  declared 
with  a  mock  solemnity  that  sat  ill  on  his  worn  face. 
'*  You  tell  me  things,  Pammy  dear.  How  are  you  all, 
and  have  you  seen  '  Peter  Pan  '?  " 

800 


KINGSMEAD  301 

"  Yes.  But  I  don't  much  like  it.  Mother  and  father 
have  been  seven  times,  and  father  always  cries.  I  think 
it  rather  silly." 

"Ah,  my  dear!" 

"  Yes,  I  do.  There  are  n't  pirates ;  and  children 
can't  do  all  those  things ;  and  there  is  n't  any  Never 
Never  Land." 

Poor  Tommy  drew  a  sharp  breath.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  the  whole  future  was  a  Never  Never  Land  —  a  land 
whither  he  could  never  go,  a  land  where  snowdrops  grew 
and  Nancy  Gilpin  had  never  been  Aileen  Donovan. 

Pammy  watched  him  with  the  shrewdness  that  sat  so 
oddly  on  her  fat  face. 

"  You  look  very  seedy,"  she  said  at  length.  "  I  '11 
not  tease  you  any  more,  only  I  'm  sure  it 's  a  love-story, 
and  I  adore  love-stories.  Would  you  like  some  tea?  " 

It  was  only  four,  but  Tommy  accepted  her  offer  with 
pleasure.  He  was  desperately  tired,  and  he  liked  tea. 

Pammy  rushed  away,  the  house  shaking  under  her 
energetic  tread,  and,  left  alone,  the  young  man  closed 
his  eyes  for  a  time. 

It  had  come,  love.  He  had  hoped  for  it  and  it  had 
come,  but  instead  of  coming  as  an  angel  to  take  him  by 
the  hand  and  guide  him  through  life,  behold  it  was  a 
menace,  a  terrible  danger  from  which  he  must  flee. 

And  the  pain  was  almost  more  than  he  could  bear. 
Ah,  the  face  of  her,  the  blue  gaze  of  her  eyes,  the  music 
of  her  voice ! 


302  KINGSMEAD 

Mignonette  Lady!     Poor  little  Mignonette  Lady! 

She  too  was  suffering,  for  she  had  promised  to  give 
Teddy  up.  He  remembered  her  voice  in  Brigit's 
drawing-room  as  she  said,  "  I  love,  I  love,  I  love !  "  It 
was  indeed  a  rigid  law  that  had  bent  him  to  being  cruel 
to  her. 

It  was  cruel  and  relentless,  but  even  in  the  midst  of 
his  pain  he  knew  it  to  be  law  and  not  caprice,  for  his 
was  a  just  mind. 

"  I  must  write  to  Bicky,  the  darling,"  he  thought 
suddenly,  "  but  I  '11  not  tell  her.     It  would  only  make 
her  miserable.     I  '11  say  I  want  sunshine  and  quiet  — 
and  that  is  true.     Poor  Bicky,  she  would  understand, 
but  there  's  no  use  in  hurting  her.'* 

Just  then  Pammy  came  in  bearing  a  huge  silver  tea- 
tray  on  which  stood  an  array  of  things  the  weight  of 
which  would  have  staggered  many  a  grown  man. 

"  I  told  Williams  I  'd  bring  it  myself,"  she  announced, 
quite  undisturbed.  "  She  'd  have  had  to  bring  it  in 
piecemeal,  and  I  'm  strong.  Oh,  matches  —  have  you 
any?" 

She  lighted  the  spirit-lamp  and  arranged  the  things 
on  the  tray  very  quietly  with  her  big  hands. 

"Do  you  like  sponge-cake?  There  are  little  choco- 
late ones,  too.  Mother  will  be  down  in  a  minute  or  so. 
Pilly  is  ill,  poor  old  thing." 

"Who  is  Pilly?  —  no,  a  sponge-cake,  please." 

"  Pilly  's  mother's  old  nurse.    She  's  frightfully  old  — 


KINGSMEAD  303 

and  frightfully  cross,  too,  though  mother  adores  her. 
She  does  n't  like  me,  Pilly  does  n't,  though  she  used  to 
before  mother  was  married.  She  's  always  saying  who 
could  believe  that  I  was  such  a  lovely  baby  —  which  is 
nasty  of  her.  Would  you  like  a  whisky  and  soda?  "  Re- 
garding the  young  man  with  an  almost  ridiculously 
motherly  air  the  huge  girl  sat  behind  the  tea-table. 

Tommy  laughed. 

"  No,  my  dear,  thank  you.    I  loathe  whisky.    Why?" 

"  Well  —  there 's  a  glass,  look  at  yourself,  and 
you  '11  know  why  I  want  to  give  you  things." 

Tommy  winced.  Only  a  few  hours  before  he  had 
told  her  to  look  in  a  glass,  his  poor  little  blighted 
snowdrop. 

"  I  'm  not  ill,"  he  said  patiently,  "  I  'm  only  tired." 

She  nodded.  "  I  know.  Well,  here  's  your  tea,  good 
and  strong.  How  's  Inez?  " 

Tommy  drank  a  long  draught  of  tea,  which  was  good. 
"All  right  — why?" 

"  Because  she  was  all  wrong  the  day  we  left.  Crying 
her  eyes  out.  I  think  she  's  in  love.  Mother  says  I  'm 
always  thinking  about  love,  but  I  'm  not,  unless  other 
people  do.  And  it  seems  to  me,"  added  the  sage  of  six- 
teen, munching  a  chocolate  cake  with  primitive  enjoy- 
ment, "  that  most  of  'em  usually  are." 

"  So  you  think  Miss  Lansing  's  in  love?  " 

"  Yes  —  with  Bertie  Green.  She  refused  what  's-his- 
name,  the  guardsman,  you  know,  and  the  Duchess  told 


804  KINGSMEAD 

mother  yesterday  that  there  must  be  someone  else,  and 
that  if  it  was  n't  you  it  must  be  Mr.  Green." 

"It  certainly  isn't  me,"  declared  Tommy  hastily, 
and  as  ungrammatical  as  even  an  earl  could  be. 

"  Then  it 's  him." 

Tommy  frowned.  The  friend  from  Cumberland,  then, 
was  Bertie  Green  himself.  "  If  she  loves  him  why 
does  n't  she  marry  him?  "  he  murmured  impatiently. 

"  Perhaps  he  has  n't  asked  her." 

Pammy  was  clumsy  in  her  methods,  but  this  time  she 
had  hit  the  mark.  This,  then,  was  what  Green  had 
meant  by  his  dark  hints  in  the  railway  carriage ! 

Tommy  sighed.  Poor  fellow,  he  had  certainly  looked 
miserable  enough. 

And  Inez's  face  last  night,  and  that  morning.  Ah 
yes,  misery  everywhere.  And  this  was  such  futile,  un- 
necessary suffering.  It  would  be  so  easy  to  make  them 
happy  —  if  only  someone  would  take  the  trouble. 

"  She  cried  like  anything  the  other  night,"  resumed 
Pammy,  swallowing  more  cake  than  is  usually  disposed 
of  at  once.  "  My  room  was  next  to  hers.  Funny,  is  n't 
it?  Now  if  I  were  going  to  fall  in  love  it  would  be  with 
a  big  man  like  Kitchener.  More  tea  ?  " 

But  Tommy  did  not  hear.  He,  it  was  clear,  was  the 
only  person  who  could  straighten  out  this  other  miser- 
able love-affair.  And  he  had  n't  much  time.  "  Can  you 
get  me  a  cab?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  Yes,  of  course  —  why?  " 


KINGSMEAD  305 

"  Because  I  must  be  off.     Shall  I  ring?  " 

When  Mrs.  de  Lensky  came  downstairs  she  found  her 
caller  just  going. 

"  Excuse  my  rushing  off  like  this,"  he  said,  "  but  I  — 
I  have  to  catch  a  train." 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  with  her  great  dark 
eyes  that  had  once  been  so  beautiful. 

"  Is  anything  wrong,  Tommy?  " 

"  No  —  that  is,  yes.  Please  don't  tell  Brigit,  Madame 
de  Lensky.  I  —  I  shall  be  all  right." 

Laying  her  thin  hand  on  his  shoulder  she  continued  to 
look  at  him,  a  little  whimsical  twist  to  her  lips. 

"  Has  it  come  to  you  so  early,  poor  Tommy  ?  "  she 
asked,  and  he  knew  that  in  spite  of  her  smile  she  was  not 
laughing  at  him. 

"  Yes,  it  has  come,"  he  answered  truthfully. 

"  Then,"  she  said,  releasing  him,  "  treat  it  well,  how- 
ever it  has  come,  and  it  will  not  hurt  you." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

TOMMY  went  straight  to  Pomfret  Abbey,  and,  arriving 
at  the  middle  of  dinner,  sat  down  by  his  sister  and  said, 
"  I  am  going  back  to  Italy,  Bick,  and  have  come  to  say 
good-bye,  and  to  ask  a  favour  of  you." 

"Back  to  Italy?" 

"  Yes,  I  want  the  Castelletto  —  and  the  sun." 

Lady  Pontefract  looked  searchingly  at  him,  and  see- 
ing much,  said  nothing. 

Lord  Pontefract,  on  the  other  hand,  seeing  nothing, 
said  much.  Was  the  climate  too  much?  Could  n't 
Tommy  stand  the  Bath-tub  people  any  longer  ?  Or  was 
the  girl,  what  's-her-name  —  Irene  —  Iris  —  making  love 
to  him?  Or  had  he  fallen  in  love  with  her  and  been 
refused? 

In  his  rather  clumsy  way  Pontefract  was  a  genial, 
jocular  man,  and,  liking  his  queer  little  brother-in-law, 
was  glad  to  see  him,  and  did  n't  want  him  to  feel  dull. 

"  How  'd  you  get  away  to-night,"  he  added  suddenly, 
"  and  why  are  n't  you  dressed  ?  " 

"  I  've  been  in  London,"  returned  Tommy,  taking  a 
large  pale  yellow  pear  and  eyeing  it  absently  as  it  lay 
on  his  plate. 

Brigit  said  nothing  for  a  minute,  and  then,  looking 
306 


KINGSMEAD  307 

at  her  husband,  remarked  quietly,  "  He  has  something 
to  tell  me,  Ponty  dear  —  shall  we  go  ?  " 

Ponty,  the  soul  of  good-nature,  rose  instantly.  "  No, 
no,  I  '11  go.  Eat  your  pear,  Tommy,  and  drink  a  glass 
of  port.  Give  him  some  port,  Brigit,  it  '11  buck  him  up. 
You  '11  stop  the  night,  Tommy?  " 

Tommy  took  up  the  pear,  which  looked  to  him  about 
as  eatable  as  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  "  No,  thanks,  Ponty, 
I  must  be  off.  I  'm  leaving  to-morrow  morning  —  leav- 
ing London,  I  mean  —  for  Dover.  Thanks  very  much, 
however." 

When  the  door  had  closed  and  the  brother  and  sister 
were  alone  he  said  at  once,  "  Brigit,  I  must  see  Inez 
Lansing  to-night." 

"  Inez !  "  Lady  Pontef ract  knew  her  brother  well,  but 
for  a  moment  she  lost  her  reasoning  power  and  stared 
at  him  in  utter  dismay.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say " 

Tommy  burst  out  laughing.  "  Poor  old  Bick !  No, 
I  most  certainly  don't  mean  to  say  —  that.  But  I  must 
see  her.  Please  don't  ask  why,  it 's  not  my  secret." 

He  looked  very  ill  and  very  young,  and  she  wanted  to 
take  him  in  her  arms  and  comfort  him.  But  at  the  same 
time  he  looked  very  resolute  and  sure  of  what  he  wanted, 
so  after  a  short  pause  she  rose  and  kissed  him. 

"  I  '11  telephone  her  to  come  over,  shall  I?  Unless 
you  want  —  but  I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  go  there." 

"  No,  no.  Yes,  do  ask  her  to  come  here.  Don't  men- 
tion me,  though,  please." 


808  KINGSMEAD 

When  she  had  gone,  her  long  amber  skirts  trailing 
after  her,  he  sat  quite  still  staring  at  his  pear.  It 
seemed,  now  that  he  had  done  it,  a  most  quixotic  and 
foolish  thing,  this  rush  back  into  the  neighbourhood  of 
his  danger.  And  he  seemed,  in  his  weariness  and  dis- 
couragement, a  mere  busybody. 

Why  could  he  not  let  other  people  manage  their  own 
affairs  in  their  own  way?  Surely  Inez  Lansing  and 
Hubert  Green  were  not  children.  Indeed,  they  were  both 
older  than  he,  and  yet  here  he  was  playing  fairy  god- 
father to  them. 

He  laughed  a  little  mirthless  laugh  at  the  thought. 
And  yet  —  Inez  was  here  —  possibly  even  now  crying 
like  anything,  as  Pammy  said,  and  Green,  hurt  and 
proud,  had  gone  back  to  town  to  try  to  forget. 

Without  his,  Tommy's,  interference  they  might  be 
miserable  for  months,  or  even  forever.  And  at  twenty- 
three  "  forever  "  is  a  terrific  word. 

"  She  's  coming,  dear,"  Brigit  announced,  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  "  Shall  we  go  to  my  room?  " 

He  nodded.  "Yes.  Thank  you,  Bick.  What  did 
you  tell  her?  " 

"Only  that  I  wanted  to  see  her.  I  couldn't  hear 
what  she  said,  except  that  she  'd  come." 

Together,  her  beautiful  bare  arm  on  his  shoulder, 
they  went  upstairs  into  Lady  Pontefract's  morning- 
room,  a  pleasant  little  room  where  she  sat  and  read 
or  wrote  when  alone.  The  windows  were  open  and 


KINGSMEAD  S09 

the  moonlight  lay  in  great  lozenges  on  the  polished 
floor. 

"  You  are  tired  out,  poor  Tommykin.  I  am  glad  you 
are  going  back  to  Italy.  I  will  come  and  see  you  soon." 

He  smiled  up  at  her.  "  Dear  old  Bicky !  Thanks  so 
much  for  not  asking.  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it  some  day. 
And,"  he  put  his  hand  on  hers,  "I  —  I  have  been  think- 
ing about  him  —  the  Master.  Poor  Bick !  Life  has  not 
been  very  good  to  you." 

"I  —  perhaps  I  was  n't  good  to  life,  little  brother. 
But  I  am  glad  it  is  nearly  over  for  him  now."  Her  eyes 
were  wet,  and  he  was  glad,  as  she  spoke. 

They  sat  down  near  a  window  in  silence  for  a  long 
time.  Then  Lady  Pontefract,  leaning  forward,  saw  that 
he  had  fallen  asleep. 

Rising,  she  covered  him  tenderly  with  a  great  fleecy 
white  shawl  and  closed  the  window. 

It  was  nearly  an  hour  later  when  the  sound  of  the 
Kingsmead  motor  roused  him,  and  she,  switching  on 
the  light,  folded  away  the  shawl. 

"Better?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  dear,  much." 

Inez  Lansing  was  brought  directly  upstairs,  and  when 
she  saw  Tommy  started  back  in  unaffected  amazement. 

"  Why,  Lord  Kingsmead,"  she  cried,  "  what  on  earth 
has  brought  you  back  here?  " 

"  You,"  he  returned  quietly  as  Brigit  closed  the  door 
on  them. 


310  KINGSMEAD 

"Me?"  Still  enveloped  in  her  furs,  the  girl  stood 
staring  at  him.  "  And  where  's  Nanny?  " 

"Where's  Nanny?  What  do  you  mean?"  Tommy 
was  very  white  as  he  spoke,  and  he  leaned  against  the 
back  of  the  chair  from  which  he  had  risen. 

Inez  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Well,  I  must  say  you 
seem  to  me  to  be  as  mad  as  hatters,  all  of  you.  I  sup- 
pose you  know  she  's  gone?  " 

"  No.    I  did  n't  know  it." 

She  unfastened  her  big  cloak  and  slipped  it  from  her 
shoulders  to  the  floor,  her  eyes  still  fixed  curiously  on 
his  face. 

"Well,  she  has.  Teddy  is  nearly  out  of  his  mind 
about  it.  He  went  there  this  morning  at  about  twelve, 
and  she  had  left  an  hour  before  —  for  London.  He 
came  raging  home,  swearing  you  had  taken  her  —  going 
on  like  a  lunatic.  It  was  —  awful.  Didn't  you,"  she 
added,  "  go  to  London  ?  " 

"  I  did.    From  Kingsmead  station." 

"  Well,  she  went  from  Isherby  station,  so  you  went 
in  the  same  train.  Did  n't  you  see  her  at  Victoria?  " 

"  I  told  you  that  I  did  n't  know  she  had  gone." 

"  But  you  were  there  this  morning,"  persisted  the 
girl. 

He  nodded  wearily.  Her  vulgar  curiosity  as  to  de- 
tails, now  that  he  had  convinced  her  of  his  ignorance  of 
main  facts,  disgusted  him. 

"  Yes.  I  was  there.  But  she  did  not  tell  me  she  was 
going  away.  Where  is  Teddy  now?  " 


KINGSMEAD  311 

"  At  home  —  behaving  abominably.  I  am  glad  you 
are  here,  for  I  am  sure  he  would  have  gone  off  to  Italy 
to  look  for  you  —  and  her.  I  suppose  you  know  he 
wants  to  marry  her." 

Tommy  did  not  answer.  He  was  wondering  where 
poor  little  Nanny  could  have  gone,  and  whether  she 
had  taken  this  step  to  avoid  involving  him  in  a  more 
serious  quarrel  with  Teddy.  It  seemed,  this  supposing, 
very  likely,  and  it  touched  him  with  great  poignancy. 

Suddenly  the  clock  struck. 

"  I  am  going,"  he  said,  glancing  at  it,  "  back  to  town 
to-night,  so  I  must  waste  no  time  in  telling  you  why  I 
came  back.  You  must  forgive  my  —  meddling  —  I  do 
it  for  the  best.  I  went  up  to  town  this  morning  with 
Bertie  Green,  and  —  he  is  very  unhappy." 

The  girl's  face  changed,  but  she  gave  her  head  a  little 
toss.  "Unhappy?  Poor  darling,  why?" 

*'  Because,"  explained  Tommy  patiently,  "  he  loves 
you  and  you  are  unkind  to  him.  He  thinks  you  are 
engaged  to  what  's-his-name,  Sir  Wilfred  —  and  he  's 
miserable." 

"  Really,  Lord  Kingsmead,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand -  -" 

It  was  the  last  he  ever  saw  of  the  young  woman's  man- 
ner as  interpreted  by  Miss  Lansing,  for  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand  Tommy  cut  her  short. 

"  Don't.  I  am  in  a  great  hurry,  and  I  am  very 
earnest,  and  whether  or  no  you  think  me  impertinent, 


312  KINGSMEAD 

I  must  tell  you  what  I  think.  I  think  that  you  love  him 
and  are  sorry  you  tormented  him.  And  now,"  he  added 
with  a  little  smile,  "  I  think  you  want  to  cry,  and  I  don't 
mind  if  you  do." 

It  was  well  that  he  did  not  mind,  for  the  girl  broke 
down  helplessly  and  sobbed  on  the  satin  back  of  a  chair 
until  she  could  sob  no  more. 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  care  for  him,"  she  cried,  blowing 
her  nose  on  Tommy's  handkerchief,  "  but  —  I  could  n't 
help  it.  And  —  I  tried  to  accept  Sir  Wilfred,  even  the 
Duchess  said  he  was  a  splendid  match  —  and  I  loathe 
his  father  —  Bertie's,  I  mean,  and  they  have  no  real 
social  standing " 

"Oh,  blow  social  standing!"  interjected  Tommy 
vulgarly. 

"  I  know.  You  're  quite  right.  And  then  —  I  was 
horrid  to  him,  and  —  things  went  from  bad  to  worse, 
and  I  have  been  so  miserable,  and  then  to-day  he  went 
away  without  asking  me." 

"  Having  blown  social  standing,  my  dear  Inez,  I  'd 
advise  you  to  blow  your  nose  and  wipe  your  streaming 
eyes,  like  the  carpenter  —  or  was  it  the  walrus  ?  And  as 
to  Green,  how  could  the  poor  wretch  ask  you,  with  you 
devilling  him  for  all  you  were  worth?  " 

"  But  what  can  I  do?  "  she  asked,  between  a  laugh  and 
a  final  sob.  "  I  can't  ask  him !  Oh,  Lord  Kingsmead, 
what  must  you  think  of  me?  " 

"  I  like  you  better  than  I  ever  did,  if  you  really  care 


KINGSMEAD  313 

to  know,"  returned  Tommy  honestly ;  "  and  as  to  what 
you  can  do,  write  him  a  note  and  ask  him  to  come  to 
see  you,  and  then  be  commonly  decent  to  him  and  see 
what  '11  happen !  " 

"  Do  you  really  think  so?  "  she  asked  incoherently. 

"  I  really  do.  And  now  I  must  be  off.  Will  you  take 
a  message  to  Teddy  for  me?  " 

"  I  '11  do  anything  on  earth  for  you." 

"  Well  —  this  is  easy.  Tell  him  that  I  assure  him 
on  my  word  of  honour  that  I  do  not  know  where  — 
where  Mrs.  Gilpin  is  —  and  that  I  have  no  intention  of 
ever  seeing  her  again.  And  then,  tell  him  to  —  to  write 
to  me  some  day." 

"  Yes.  I  will  tell  him.  He  was  —  very  angry  with 
you." 

"  I  know.  Some  day  he  will  get  over  it,  and  —  I 
shall  always  be  ready  to  —  make  up." 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  began  the  girl,  but  he  snubbed 
her  gently. 

"  Don't  be  curious.     Go  home  and  write  to  Green." 

She  put  on  her  coat  and  held  out  her  hand.  "  I  can't 
ever  thank  you,"  she  said,  a  little  catch  in  her  voice. 
"  I  was  so  miserable.  I  suppose  Pammy  Lensky  will 
call  it  an  aversion  to  type !  " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  long  journey  from  Kingsmead  to  London,  from 
London  to  Paris,  passed  to  Tommy  like  a  dream. 

The  channel  had  been  in  a  very  tempestuous  mood, 
and  he,  a  good  sailor,  was  glad,  for  it  to  a  great  extent 
freed  the  deck  of  encumbering  people,  and  he  paced  up 
and  down  in  the  cold  wind,  his  head  bent,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  undisturbed,  among  his  confused  thoughts. 

And  alas,  poor  Tommy's  thoughts  were  indeed  very 
confused;  for  now,  having  in  his  queer  way  done  all 
that  he  could  for  other  people,  he  for  the  first  time  since 
the  blows  had  fallen  on  him,  the  so  curiously  united 
blows,  left  with  no  one  to  care  for,  not  one  to  whose  aid 
he  could  come,  felt  his  own  personal  misery  stand  out 
boldly  before  him. 

It  had  been  a  relief  to  hear  from  Pammy  that  a 
friendly  hand  was  needed  to  steer  the  uninteresting 
Inez's  little  bark  into  harbour ;  a  comfort  to  rush  back 
to  Kingsmead  to  show  the  girl  the  way  to  happiness. 

But  when  he  had  said  good-bye  to  Brigit  and  got  into 
the  motor  that  was  to  take  him  to  the  station,  the  closing 
door  seemed  to  shut  in  with  him,  leaving  him  utterly 
at  its  mercy,  the  unveiled  image  of  his  own  misery  and 
aloneness. 

314 


KINGSMEAD  315 

The  road  led  past  Greene,  and  at  the  little  gateway 
he  touched  the  button  that  brought  the  motor  to  a  stop. 

The  house  was  dark  but  for  a  light  downstairs  in  the 
servants'  quarters.  He  got  out  and  in  the  mild  darkness 
that  seemed  to  hang  from  the  bare  trees  went  up  the 
drive. 

The  door  —  her  door,  the  windows  of  the  drawing- 
room,  the  semicircle  of  windows  of  the  downstairs  lounge 
—  he  looked  at  them  all. 

Then  he  went  to  the  door  of  the  walled  garden  and 
tried  it.  It  was  locked. 

This  seemed  to  him  appropriate  and  almost  allegori- 
cal. The  garden  was  closed  to  him,  and  the  snowdrop 
gone.  If  he  asked  the  servants  where  she  was,  he  would 
probably  be  told,  for  he  felt  that  they  had  not  been  for- 
bidden to  tell  him.  He  and  she,  she  believed,  of  course, 
were  allies,  since  she  "  understood." 

But  he  did  not  ask.  He  did  not  wish  to  know.  And 
with  a  kind  of  sob  he  went  back  to  the  motor  and  started 
back  to  the  Castelletto. 

"  My  first  love,"  he  said  in  the  darkness,  "  is  over." 

It  was  not  what  he  had  imagined  it  would  be,  that 
first  love.  The  adoration  that  should  have  been  its  chief 
component  had  been  cruelly  slain  at  the  very  moment  of 
his  recognition  of  the  love ;  and  gone  the  adoration,  the 
reverence,  the  best  of  the  love,  had  gone  too. 

What  was  left  was  chiefly  pain,  and  pain  of  a  highly 
complicated  and  tentacled  variety. 


316  KINGSMEAD 

Had  Nancy  Gilpin  remained  Nancy  Gilpin  things 
would  not  have  been  nearly  so  bad,  for  Tommy  knew 
that  he  could  have  forced  himself  to  love  her  in  a  way 
worthy  of  his  friend's  wife  and  worthy  of  himself.  He 
was  bound  to  have  suffered  in  any  case,  but  it  would 
have  been  the  suffering  of  a  clean  wound  from  a  clean 
blade,  whereas  this  was  the  festering  of  an  ugly  thorn. 
The  thoughts  and  feelings  involved  brought  the  young 
man  clearly  face  to  face  with  aspects  of  life  that  had 
hitherto  troubled  him  very  little,  and  some  of  them 
displeased  him. 

Love  to  him  meant  a  beautiful  whole ;  the  rose,  rooted 
in  the  earth,  to  be  sure,  but  blooming  proudly  in  the 
purity  of  the  sun  and  rain  of  heaven. 

And  now,  with  his  curious,  unanalysed  relentlessness 
of  mind,  he  could  not  call  his  crying  longing  for  Nancy 
Gilpin  love. 

"  I  do  not  love  her,"  he  said  over  and  over  again,  "  I 
just  want  her."  And  then  the  desire  to  see  her  dear 
little  face,  to  hear  her  voice,  tore  at  him  like  a  demon, 
so  that  he  groaned  aloud. 

At  Paris,  where  he  could  get  in  the  south-bound 
express  no  sleeping  accommodation,  the  gods  were  very 
good  to  him,  for  in  his  queer  way  he  derived  real  com- 
fort from  the  fat  \  that  there  was  in  his  compartment 
a  young  woman,  a  Greek,  with  an  ailing  child.  This 
woman  speaking  no  French  at  all,  and  being  in  deep 
distress  over  her  husband,  to  whom  she  had  been  called 


KINGSMEAD  317 

by  news  of  his  sudden  illness,  was  almost  helpless  in 
her  grief,  and  on  Tommy's  addressing  her  in  Italian, 
of  which  language  she  understood  a  few  words,  clung 
to  him  with  a  faith  that  might  under  other  circum- 
stances have  been  almost  embarrassing. 

As  it  was,  however,  his  sympathy  for  her  was  a  bless- 
ing to  him,  and  all  night  he  talked  to  her,  holding  the 
baby  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  in  his  arms,  for 
the  little  creature  seemed  to  like  being  with  him,  and  its 
piteous  whining  ceased  for  longer  and  longer  intervals 
as  the  train  rushed  into  the  morning. 

Once  Tommy  made  tea  for  his  companion,  for  she  had 
a  well-equipped  tea-basket,  which  her  apparently  consti- 
tutional helplessness  appeared  to  render  quite  useless  to 
her;  and  as  they  sipped  the  boiling  liquid  from  the 
dreadful  enamel  cups,  that  looked  as  if  they  had  been 
stolen  from  their  chains  on  some  public  drinking  foun- 
tain, he  learned  much  of  her  history. 

Her  husband,  a  civil  engineer,  had  been  sent  to  Paris 
a  year  ago,  and  she  had  just  joined  him  there.  They 
lived  high,  very  high  up  in  an  old  house  near  the  Sor- 
bonne  —  there  were  iron  balconies  at  the  windows,  she 
added  vaguely. 

And  they  were  happy.  The  baby  was  fourteen  months 
old.  No,  she  did  n't  look  so  old,  for ! jhe  was  very  deli- 
cate. Her  ankles  were  weak.  He  was  strong  and  well 
and  big  and  busy  —  oh,  twice  as  big  as  Tommy,  she 
explained,  with  pride. 


318  KINGSMEAD 

And  he  had  been  sent  to  Turin,  something  about  a 
bridge,  a  fortnight  before.  She  was  very  lonely,  for  she 
could  never  learn  French.  No,  he  was  Italian,  a  Cala- 
brian.  And  that  afternoon  had  come  the  telegramma,  — 
"  ah,  io  idio  telegramma,  I  hate  them,"  —  saying  he  was 
ill  and  she  must  come;  and  she  knew  he  had  been  hurt, 
on  the  bridge  or  something,  and  that  she  would  find  him 
dead. 

The  baby  slept  now,  its  pallid  face  on  the  mother's 
sealskin  muff,  and  the  tea  was  becoming  drinkably  cool. 

"  You  can't  know,"  Tommy  declared  encouragingly. 
"  You  must  n't  imagine  the  worst." 

But  she  shook  her  head  with  a  touch  of  absurd  im- 
portance even  in  the  midst  of  her  bitter  grief.  "  I  do 
know.  E  in  famiglia"  she  stumbled  in  her  bad  Italian. 
"  When  a  death  comes  we  have  a  feeling.  It  never  fails, 
never." 

Then  she  wept  again,  mopping  her  fussy  dark  face 
with  a  blue-edged  handkerchief. 

At  Modena  Tommy  took  her  keys  and  went  and  got 
her  luggage  through  the  customs.  When  he  came  back 
he  brought  her  a  big  packet  of  milk  chocolate,  which 
she  ate  with  deliberate  greed,  devouring  every  bit  of  it 
in  half  an  hour. 

Toward  morning  Tommy  slept  for  an  hour,  and  woke 
to  find  her  giving  lumps  of  plum-cake  to  the  baby.  This 
seemed  to  him  unadvisable  and  he  said  so,  but  she  as- 
sured him  that  the  baby  liked  it. 


KINGSMEAD  319 

At  the  station  before  Turin  two  men  got  in  and  dis- 
cussed the  local  politics  of  their  town  in  a  loud  tone. 

Tommy,  still  grasping  at  anything  that  kept  his 
mind  away  from  himself,  listened  gravely  to  the  story 
of  the  misdemeanours  of  the  Sindaco  and  the  Virtues  of 
1'illustrissimo  Morro.  "  She,  la  Curini,  has  much  to  do 
with  the  appointment  of  that  imbecile  Massimo  Ter- 
retti,"  the  younger  of  the  two  men  declared,  with  a 
wink ;  "  he  is  a  good-looking  youth."  And  the  older 
man  picked  his  teeth  with  a  gold-mounted  goose-quill 
and  answered  with  a  shrug :  "  My  dear  Carlo,  wherever 
there  is  mischief  there  is  a  woman,  and  wherever  there  is 
a  woman  there  is  mischief !  Ah,  le  donnS!  " 

Tommy  helped  the  Greek  get  out  at  Turin,  and  called 
a  porter  to  carry  her  luggage,  then,  wishing  that  she 
might  find  her  husband  better,  he  bade  her  good-bye  and 
got  back  into  his  carriage. 

The  two  men  had  got  out  too,  but  to  his  relief  more 
people  got  in  —  a  German  bride  and  groom,  and  an 
Englishwoman  who,  he  thought,  must  certainly  be  a 
suffragette. 

All  the  way  to  Genoa,  where  they  arrived  at  half -past 
six,  the  German  bride  and  groom  talked  —  chiefly  about 
the  scenery,  which  they  called  either  prachvoll  or 
grossartig. 

They  were  a  solidly  built  couple  in  new  snuff-coloured 
clothes,  and  both  of  them  wore  glasses.  Her  name  was 
Clotilde  and  his  Arthur,  and  they  ate  a  great  many 
lunches. 


320  KINGSMEAD 

Tommy's  German  was  scant,  but  he  talked  to  them, 
and  they  told  him  that  they  were  going  to  Spezia,  which 
they  understood  was  wunderscTion  and  colossally  cheap. 

They  were  nice  simple  souls  and  he  liked  them  even 
when  they  held  hands,  which  showed  that  he  was  not 
insular  in  his  prejudices.  The  suffragettish-looking 
lady  read  Baedeker  all  the  way  and  ate  two  buns. 

Tommy  bought  at  a  station  a  sausage-roll  and  then 
wished  he  hadn't,  for  the  sausage  was  very  garlicky. 

Clotilde  and  Arthur  liked  Tommy  extremely  and 
roared  with  laughter  at  his  bad  German  and  his  jokes, 
for  Tommy  was  very  hilarious. 

At  Genoa,  however,  he  left  them,  though  they  were 
going  on  by  the  same  train,  and  sat  huddled  by  a  win- 
dow of  his  compartment,  his  face  very  white,  his  unsee- 
ing eyes  turned  toward  the  moonlit  sea. 

At  last,  at  the  end  of  a  long  tunnel,  the  train  stopped 
and  Tommy  got  out  at  a  small  station. 

Giving  his  luggage  receipt  to  a  man  who  hoped  his 
signora  was  well,  he  got  into  a  little  one-horse  victoria 
and  was  borne  rapidly  along  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
coast  roads  in  the  world  towards  the  Castelletto. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IN  the  quiet  of  the  warm  night,  a  quiet  that  had  a  vel- 
vety quality  unknown  to  northern  climates,  the  Castel- 
letto  lay  glowing  in  warm  moonlight.  The  pleasant 
pale  moon  that  had  shone  on  Tommy  half-a-dozen  nights 
before  as  he  left  Kingsmead  was  not  here.  This  was  a 
glowing  globe  of  gold  whose  shadows  dropped  over  the 
still  world  shadows  as  light,  as  distinct  as  that  made 
by  the  sun. 

And  all  down  the  hill,  as  Tommy  sat,  a  small  quaint 
figure  perched  on  the  parapet  of  his  terrace,  he  saw 
grey  olives  asleep  in  the  mellow  night,  except  where 
broad-stretched  firs  spread  out  over  the  deep  border  of 
softly  crashing  foaming  waves  that  eternally  stroked 
the  rough  piled  rocks.  In  the  interstices  of  the  stoutly 
built  old  tower  grew  prickly-pears,  and  in  one  corner  of 
the  terrace,  near  the  warm  wall  of  the  kitchen,  a  mass 
of  delicate  purple  irises  stirred  as  if  dreaming. 

Tommy  was  alone,  but  for  his  servant,  Battista, 
and  Battista,  too,  slept. 

It  was  the  third  night  since  that  one  when  he  had  come 

back.    He  had  been  alone  ever  since,  alone  with  himself, 

and  bravely  he  had  faced  himself,  and  his  fight  was  still 

going  on.     He  was  lonely  with  a  horrible  loneliness; 

21  321 


322  KINGSMEAD 

sad  with  a  great  sadness;  young  with  a  cruel  youth. 
But  he  was  his  self's  grim  and  uncompromising  antag- 
onist, and  he  was  beginning  to  get  the  advantage  over 
the  arguments  and  excuses  with  which  his  antagonist 
confronted  him. 

Easy  as  he  knew  it  would  be  for  him  to  find  Aileen 
Donovan,  as  he  was  teaching  his  mind  to  call  her,  he 
knew,  had  known  from  the  first,  that  he  would  never 
seek  her.  It  was  not  a  determination,  it  was  the  convic- 
tion of  a  fact. 

He  would  not  seek  her ;  he  could  not,  as  yet,  forget 
her ;  but,  quite  without  any  attempt  at  cynicism,  rather 
as  a  child  holding  out  a  hand  in  the  dark  for  help  he 
knows,  in  spite  of  terror,  to  be  there,  he  told  himself 
that  time  cured  all  things. 

It  hurt  him  to  think  of  Nanny  cut  adrift  by  her  own 
will,  in  order  to  keep  her  promise  to  him,  from  her 
pleasant  anchorage  at  Greene,  but  even  as  it  hurt  him 
he  remembered  with  a  smile  that  she  was  not  of  the  stuff 
of  which  renunciation  is  made.  "  She  will  not  allow  her- 
self to  suffer  —  bodily,"  he  thought. 

No  doubt,  loving  Teddy  as  she  did,  she  would  suffer 
in  losing  him,  but  her  gay  frocks,  her  big  fires,  her 
simple,  perfect  meals  she  would  never  give  up. 

The  money  given  her  by  him  seemed  to  her  quite 
honourably  her  own,  he  knew,  and  she  would  never  dream 
of  giving  it  up. 

But  as  he  sat  there  on  the  broad  parapet,  on  the  outer 


KINGSMEAD  323 

edge  of  which  grew  a  narrow  bed  of  rosemary,  Tommy 
was  not  thinking  of  Mrs.  Gilpin.  He  was  thinking  of 
Brigit  —  of  the  story  she  had  told  him  on  just  such 
a  night,  on  that  very  spot  —  her  story  and  Victor  Joy- 
sclle's,  that,  after  all  the  years,  not  even  his  death  could 
quite  end.  For  she  still  loved  him.  And  realising  now, 
as  he  had  not  of  course  hitherto,  through  his  ignorance, 
what  it  meant  to  her,  his  heart  ached  as  he  thought. 
What  pain  for  her,  too,  to  have  given  all  the  love  of  her 
heart  to  a  man  she  could  not  marry. 

She  had  told  him,  that  night  under  the  stars,  that 
when  Joyselle's  shock  over  his  good  little  wife's  death 
had  been  dulled  by  time,  he  had  wished  to  see  her.  But 
she  had  refused,  for  she  had  known  then  that  his  love  for 
her  was  not  great  enough  to  satisfy  her,  and  she  had 
her  life  to  lead.  "  It  was  she,  Felicite,  whom  he  loved 
most,"  she  had  told  her  brother,  her  hand  in  his,  "  and 
when  she  was  dead  —  no,  I  could  n't  see  him." 

He  knew  that  the  story  had  caused  much  talk,  some- 
thing closely  approaching  a  scandal ;  and  he  also  knew 
that  Brigit  had  not  feared  what  people  might  say. 

Now,  it  seemed  to  him,  he  understood  it  all.  And  — 
how  he  loved  her,  his  beautiful  Bicky! 

As  soon  —  as  soon  as  he  could,  he  decided,  he  would 
go  back  to  England  and  be  much  with  her  and  try  to 
help  fill  her  empty  life.  She  loved  him,  and  he  could 
at  least  try  to  make  her  happier. 

Quite  simply  he  sketched  his  little  plan,  and  as  he  sat 


324  KINGSMEAD 

there,  thinking  not  of  himself,  something  of  his  misery 
seemed  to  slip  from  him. 

The  world  too,  was  huge,  and  beautiful,  and  interest- 
ing. And  people  were  charming. 

As  soon  —  as  soon  as  he  could,  he  would  go  back  to 
them.  But  not  quite  yet.  No,  for  a  little  while  he  must 
be  quite  alone.  Crouching  on  the  parapet  he  gazed 
seaward,  the  fresh  warm  breeze  blowing  his  soft  hair 
back  from  his  forehead. 

Then  —  a  knock  at  the  outer  door. 

"  Chi  e?  "  Without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  hurried 
to  the  far  side  of  the  terrace  and  looked  down  through 
the  narrow  aperture  through  which  centuries  before  men 
had  shot  at  their  enemies. 

Below  him,  at  the  top  of  the  narrow,  dangerous  flight 
of  stone  steps,  stood,  in  the  darkness,  two  figures,  one 
of  them  a  man  with  a  lantern. 

"  Signore,  it  is  a  lady,"  and  before  the  lantern  light 
flashed  on  the  face  of  the  lady,  as  she  looked  up,  he  knew. 

He  went  down  to  the  door  very  quietly,  and  pushing 
back  the  huge  rusty  bolt,  let  her  in. 

She  looked  at  him  from  under  her  flat  black  travelling 
hat  with  something  like  fear  in  her  eyes,  but  she  did  not 
speak  until  they  stood  together  on  the  terrace  near  where 
he  had  been  sitting. 

"  I  have  —  come." 

"Yes.    And  — why?" 

She  sat  down  on  the  parapet  and  unfastened  her 


KINGSMEAD  325 

cloak,  which,  falling  back  from  her  shoulders,  displayed 
her  little  figure  dressed  in  a  neat  grey  tailor-made  frock. 

"  Why  have  you  come  ?  "  he  repeated  quietly. 

"  Because  —  because  I  wanted  to  see  you.     Listen." 

As  once  before,  her  self-possession  amazed  him,  for 
he  could  see  that  she  was  at  the  same  time  very  nervous 
and  shy. 

"  You  said  I  could  not  marry  him.  And  I  went  away. 
But  —  ah,  Tommy,  it  is  because  I  love  you  that  I  have 
come.  You  love  me,  I  know."  Anxiously  she  watched 
him. 

"  Then,"  he  asked  sternly,  "  why  did  you  try  to  marry 
him?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands.  "  Don't  scold  me.  He  wanted 
me,  and  you  did  n't.  And  I  liked  him,  and  —  it  all  be- 
gan before  you  came.  I  —  and  then  loving  you  made 
rne  more  lonely,  and  —  you  did  n't  care,  Tommy !  " 

Tommy  faced  her  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"  And  —  you  said  I  was  not  fitted  for  him,"  she  went 
on  —  "  as  his  wife  —  and  you  are  more  than  he  —  and 
the  other  day  I  —  I  knew  that  you  loved  me.  So  —  I 
have  come." 

"  Ah,  don't,  don't ! "  he  cried,  "  I  never  told  you  so. 
You  must  not  say  so." 

"  But  you  do.  I  have  known  it  ever  since  the  day 
you  came  to  tell  me  I  could  n't  marry  him.  But  I 
thought  I  could.  Marry  him,  I  mean.  And  —  when 
you  made  me  see  I  could  not  —  well,  I  love  you,  so  I 


326  KINGSMEAD 

have  come.     I  do  not  want  you,  you  know,"  she  added, 
very  reasonably,  "  to  marry  me." 

Tommy's  eyes  filled  with  hot  tears  that  did  not  fall. 
Ah,  the  piteous  humility  of  her ! 

"  Tommy  —  I  was  going  to  marry  him  because, 
though  you  say  I  am  bad,  I  don't  like  being  not  a  real 
self.  And  I  liked  him  and  I  could  have  helped  him  and 
been  somebody  —  a  real  person.  Then  you  came  — 
she  leaned  toward  him  until  her  shoulder  touched  his, 
almost  to  his  undoing,  although  even  at  the  moment 
he  acquitted  her  of  any  attempt  at  vulgar  seduction. 

"  You  do  love  me,"  she  added,  not  as  a  question. 

Then  he  spoke  in  a  queer  voice  that  he  could  not  make 
like  his  own : 

"  You  must  go.  I  am  sorry  you  have  come.  I  will 
send  my  man  down  to  the  town  with  you  —  or  no,  on 
to  Sant  'Elena,  where  there  are  good  hotels." 

"  You  will  not  send  me  away !  " 

There  was  deep  agony  in  her  voice,  and  her  small  pure 
face  quivered  as  she  looked  at  him.  "  Not  that,  not 
that!  Let  me  stay  —  as  your  friend  —  however  you 
like.  But  I  cannot  go." 

"  You  must." 

'*  Then  —  you  do  not  love  me." 

Tommy  clasped  his  hands  tight.  "  If  I  do,"  he  said 
roughly,  "  it  is  not  in  the  right  way.  Oh,  go,  go,  go !  " 

For  she  was  lovely  in  the  moonlight,  and  he  was 
twenty-three. 


KINGSMEAD  327 

"  I  will  give  back  the  money,"  she  faltered,  obviously 
bringing  herself  to  the  greatest  sacrifice  of  which  she 
could  conceive,  "  and  —  the  house." 

"  You  must  go.    And  —  please  go  soon." 

Leaving  her  he  crossed  the  terrace  and  knocking  on 
a  small  curtained  window  by  the  iris  bed  waked  his  ser- 
vant. "  Dress,  Battista,  and  light  a  lantern.  You  must 
take  this  lady  back  to  Sant  'Elena.  You  can  wake 
Giacomo  to  drive  you  on." 

"  Si,  signore;  is  the  lady  going  by  the  one-o'clock 
train?  " 

Tommy  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then  said  firmly, 
"  Yes.  She  is  going  to  Florence." 

When  he  came  back  to  where  she  stood  he  told  her  in 
a  gentle  voice  to  sit  down.  "  You  heard?  "  he  asked  as 
she,  without  resisting,  obeyed. 

"  Yes,  I  am  going  to  Florence." 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  she 
said,  "  I  will  never  see  you  again,  Tommy.  Are  you 
sure  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  ah  yes,  poor  dear,"  he  answered,  "  I  am 
sure.  We  are  both  sure.  As  to  —  my  caring  —  the 
snowdrop,"  he  touched  his  breast,  "  is  here.  But  —  it 
has  to  be." 

The  servant,  a  handsome  middle-aged  man  with  the 
dignity  of  carriage  that  so  clearly  reminds  one  of  the 
ancientness  of  Italian  civilisation,  came  out  of  his  room, 
a  lighted  lantern  in  his  hand.  After  seeing  by  Tommy's 


328  KINGSMEAD 

turning  that  he  was  seen,  he  quietly  went  down  the  steps 
and  closed  behind  him  the  outer  door. 

"  If  —  if  I  had  n't  done  that,"  she  said,  "  you  would 
have  married  me?  " 

There  was  much  dignity  in  the  humble  question,  and 
Tommy  recognised  it. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  simply,  "  but  don't  think  of  that. 
And  now  —  good-bye." 

He  took  her  small  hand  and  held  it  between  his  for  a 
moment,  and  to  his  surprise  she  read  his  thoughts.  "  If 
I  had  been  —  really  —  all  right,  I  could  not  have  done 
it  —  you  mean  that.  It  is  me,  not  what  I  have  done." 

"  Don't  think  me  a  prig,"  he  cried  with  youthful 
terror  of  that  bugbear  among  faults. 

But,  her  great  blue  eyes  full  of  tears,  she  bent  and 
kissed  his  thin  wrist.  "  I  love  you,"  she  whispered,  "  so 
I  obey  you.  Will  you  keep  this  and  sometimes  think  of 
me?  " 

From  under  her  cloak  she  brought  the  silver  mirror, 
and  put  it  into  his  hand. 

"  I  will  keep  it.    Yes.    Now  good-bye." 

For  a  moment  they  looked  at  each  other,  and  then 
she  left  him  and  went  down  the  steps,  without  turning. 

He,  the  glass  in  his  hand,  stood  on  the  parapet  above 
the  path  looking  after  her  as  she  went,  following  through 
the  olives  the  dancing  round  light  of  the  lantern. 

The  moonlight  shed,  as  it  fell  through  the  olive-trees, 
lacy  shadows  about  her,  and  he  could  see  that  her  head 


KINGSMEAD  329 

was  bowed.  He  did  not  think  that  she  was  crying ;  she 
was  not  a  tearful  woman,  just  as  she  was  not  a  rebellious 
one. 

Her  extraordinary  step  in  following  him  to  the  Cas- 
telletto  was,  he  knew,  very  indicative  of  her  gentle 
courage,  but  her  quiet  departure  without  a  scene, 
without  any  display  of  passion  or  resentment,  was  as 
characteristic. 

She  had  gone  and  he  would  not  see  her  again. 

This  he  knew.  She  had  accepted  his  decision,  and 
she  was  gone.  The  lantern  bobbed  in  and  out,  down 
the  steep  path,  and  he  still  could  see  her  little  figure 
pathetically  following  it  —  then  at  a  sharp  turning  it 
was  gone. 

After  five  minutes  or  so  he  saw  again  the  bobbing 
light,  but  it  was  among  thick-set  fir-trees  now,  and  the 
moonlight  could  not  penetrate  them.  He  no  longer  saw 
her. 

At  last  he  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  walking  slowly 
back  to  the  sea-front,  knelt  by  the  parapet,  and  putting 
the  little  mirror  down  on  the  rough  stones  between  his 
outstretched  arms,  laid  his  cheek  against  it. 


The  University  Press,  Cambridge,  U.  S.  A. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000118026     4 


